


A Candle in the Window

by rachelladeville



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accountant Castiel, Alternate Universe, Awkward Matchmaking, Awkward Sexual Situations, Coach Dean Winchester, Coming of Age, Exhibitionist Dean, Gay Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Matchmaker Jack, Secret Affair, Self Loathing, Suspicious Dean, Teacher Dean Winchester, Voyeurism, but Dean might think he is, cas isn't actually a stalker, dream catcher, high school level angst, mild underage drinking and drug use, questioning jack, small town setting, voyeur Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-10-13 22:06:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 70,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17496248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelladeville/pseuds/rachelladeville
Summary: The street is dark and from his parked car Castiel sits with his eyes riveted on the open garage door of the two-story house belonging to Mr. Dean Winchester. This man is staffed at the local high school and it's a safe bet that Cas's son has been in a few of his classes. Additionally, Mr. Winchester is currently coaching his son, Jack, in varsity baseball.Lurking to watch someone with ties to his own child is a new low for Cas, but he tries not think about that. Instead, he works to keep his hands steady on the binoculars. Winchester had climbed onto some sort of rolling board and slid under his vehicle quite a while ago. Curious what such a contraption might be called, Cas had googled it on his phone. Turns out, the board is called a creeper. How ironic. The genuine creeper in this scenario is an inanimate object and not the thirty-nine year old man currently sweating his balls off in the front seat of a 1978 Lincoln Continental just to watch.





	1. Watcher

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my amazing friend and beta, Destiella. I'm incredibly lucky to have her with me on this project which was inspired by her idea, and is being written with her in mind.

                                                                    

Cas is parked on the street. The blistering heat of the day may be gone now, but a residual blanket of humidity is still present, heavy and pressing down on him. It doesn’t much matter that his window is rolled down – there hasn’t been a breeze since he arrived. A fat drop of perspiration rolls down between his shoulder blades and tickles its way down his back. His neck is gritty and his scalp itches, but he doesn’t remove his trench coat. After all these years, it’s practically a uniform for him and it doesn’t feel right to take it off while he’s in the Continental.

On the other side of the street, a few houses down, there’s a garage door up, and from its gaping mouth spills bright light and the distinct, twangy sound of Led Zeppelin’s “Travelling Riverside Blues.” Switching the binoculars from one hand to the other, Cas twists in his seat so as to reach around behind himself and scratch at the small of his back. Through the thickness of his clothing and overcoat he can hardly feel it, but he had to try. Taking a deep breath, he returns his attention to the open garage and the man who is working in there.

Cas has been here since shortly after sundown and now it’s nearly ten thirty. With the hour having grown late for a weeknight, the block is dark and quiet. The garage he’s been surreptitiously watching is detached from its residence, a two-story craftsman style house that sits at an angle, right where the street begins to curve. It’s actually a lovely home but that’s not why Castiel is staring. His attention is actually riveted on the man who owns this property… the one currently working on his car in the garage. The name on the mailbox reads Winchester and Cas knows that his first name is Dean. He’s never had the pleasure of calling him by his first name, however, because that would be rude. The man is staffed at his son's school and because of that, he’s always been either ‘Mr. Winchester’ or ‘Coach’.

Jack has likely taken a few elective classes with the man and this summer marks the second season that he’s played varsity baseball under Coach Winchester’s guidance.  

Trying to keep his hands steady, Cas tries for an uninterrupted view of the Coach, who has been under his car for quite some time. What he’s doing under there is a mystery to Castiel. The man had lowered himself onto some sort of a board on wheels to roll underneath it and, curious what the contraption was called, he’d googled it on his phone. Turns out, the rolling board is called a creeper. How ironic. The genuine creeper in this scenario is an inanimate object and not the thirty-nine year old man currently sweating his balls off in the front seat of a 1978 Lincoln Continental while he watches his son’s baseball coach work on his car.

He can’t help but quirk a half smile at the lunacy of his thoughts as he watches. The lights in the garage are high overhead and, sadly, that means that the underside of the car is steeped in shadow. Well, with the notable exception of the meager glow from a single flashlight which the coach had pulled under there with him. Now it was propped up near his head to illuminate the underside of the car for him. The man was wrenching on something under there, though his actions meant little to Cas who knew nothing about cars.

What firmly holds his attention isn’t the work being done to the vehicle. It’s the body beneath the shiny black four door. The legs that hang out from under are bare, clad only in cut-off denim shorts that are actually a bit too short for a man so masculine. The Coach has bowlegs with just the right amount of hair. He’s wearing no socks, just a beat up and dingy pair of old running shoes.

Cas forgoes his steady grip on the binoculars so he can drop one hand to his own crotch and press down. He’s aching between his legs as he continues to lust after the last man on earth that he should. All he can think about is how much he’d like to run his tongue up the inside of those incredible thighs and the horrible things he’d do for a chance to unzip those damned cut-offs.

All the while, he’s buzzing with adrenaline. Excitement. There’s just something about sneaking a peek at someone like this – watching them from afar – being unseen by the object of his desire as he looks into that person's private moments. An undercurrent of guilt is always there, at the very bottom, keeping him from fully enjoying the experience. But it’s never been enough to stop him completely.

The desire to watch has always been there, as far back as he can remember. Though, when he was a kid, it had been quite benign. He could remember pretending to cover his eyes in the face of scandalous things, while secretly peeping out from between his fingers to drink in the few glimpses he could manage.

Later, in his grade school years, he’d taken to hiding in places where he’d have a chance to be privy to something private, his patience often tested as he waited for someone unsuspecting to come along and do something secretive so that he could be witness to it.

Hiding in the closet of his sister Anna’s room had often paid off for him in their elementary and junior high years… yielding him a view to her friends as they played dress up, showed each other their dainty under-things, and talked about boys. As he’d grown older, he’d begun hiding in his older brothers’ closets as well – their conversations and antics proving to be just as entertaining as the girls. Moreso when they had friends sleeping over or they secretly watched porn late at night.  The sore limbs he’d gotten from keeping still for hours on end were a small price to pay for seeing and hearing everything that people wanted to keep from him.

As an adult, he feels no shame for the antics of his childhood. He’d just been curious as a youngster. Hell, it’s fair to say he’s curious now. But, the descent into depravity hadn’t begun until later in life. Specifically, his sophomore year of college. By then, he’d been seeing Meg Masters for quite some time. She, as it turned out, had a penchant for being watched. The longer they were together, the more open about it she had become. Once they’d begun to talk about it and explore, it hadn’t taken long for some pretty twisted games to become part of their sexual relationship.

Though it had been innocent and fun in the early days, back when he was using his first set of real binoculars to look into her dorm room window and watch her undress, things had eventually gotten out of hand.

Soon they’d graduated from him watching her pleasure herself to him watching her be fucked by other men. There were lots of games in those days. One of his favorites had been the time she’d pulled a few other girls into a staged pillow fight. As he’d watched from the bushes, their boisterous pillow fight had transitioned into frantic tickling. Before long, a few little kisses had turned the seemingly innocent slumber party into full-on ‘girl-on-girl’ action. With a dry mouth and sweaty palms, he’d witnessed the entire thing. But, even that was tame in comparison to his and Meg’s later escapades which had culminated with the introduction of staged rape scenes causing Cas to fiinally exit the relationship.

But, having witnessed so much through the binoculars, it was safe to say he’d been hooked. Since then, he’d fought the inclination to spy on those he was attracted to. Over the years, he’d managed with varying success. But, he’d never managed to fully extinguish the fire that Meg had lit in him all those years ago.

He was a father now, and a business owner, in a relatively small town. He had a good reputation. Cas hoped fervently that he’d be able to keep up the charade too… that no one would ever know what kind of man he really was underneath: a deeply flawed man with perverted desires. Over the years he’d grown accustomed to living with the fear of being caught. And, though that fear permeated every fiber of his being, it wasn’t enough of a deterrent to keep him on the straight and narrow. Clearly. Because here he was again, lurking in secret as he fixated on someone appealing, despite the fear of being caught.

Cas was nothing if not careful, though. He never used his regular car – too many locals would recognize it. But this car? This leftover relic from his college days? No one knew this car. It spent most of its time hidden in his garage, draped with a cover. He even serviced it out of town. No one would see this old bomber and think of him – at least that’s what he hoped.

He also wore the same trench coat every time he went out to spy on someone. Putting it on helped him ease into character… play the part of someone stealthy and secretive who operated under the cover of darkness, paid for things in cash, and avoided cameras whenever possible. So far, he’d never been caught. But deep down, he knew that kind of luck wouldn’t last forever.

Sooner or later, he’d be caught. The ramifications of that were unimaginable… a court case, fines, possible jail time, and worse still - small town gossip. Once word got out, it would spread like wildfire. The shame of it all would follow him relentlessly and ruin his reputation, affect his business and, ultimately, it would be his son who paid the highest price.

Considering all he had to lose, Castiel could not believe he was still indulging himself like this. And, to make matters worse, the subject of his fixation was no longer some random man or woman who had caught his attention in the next town over. No. These days, the person in his binoculars had connections to his son. He had sunken to an all-time low.

But, berating himself for his behavior didn’t seem to help. He’d never been able to stop. He’d slowed down a few times, even cut back drastically for blocks of time. But, inevitably, he always resumed his old ways when someone intrigued him enough. It was sad, really, that even for the sake of his own son he was unable to stop this and put it behind him. He’d die for the boy, without question. So why couldn’t he change his behavior for him?

But honestly, in this case, who the hell could blame him for being interested? There was just something about Coach Winchester. He was different. Special. Everyone could see it. The man had a fan club miles wide. There wasn’t a mom in town that would’ve kicked him out of bed.

For Cas, though, it was more than just the man’s physical attributes that drew him in. From the very first parents’ meeting, Cas had been impressed with him as a leader and even as an unexpected role model. The man wasn’t the type you’d naturally cast in that light – not with his tendency to swear and use innuendo. But he was like a diamond in the rough. Under his less stellar behaviors, which only endeared him to the students, the coach had a notable decent streak and the kids could see it. He taught them by example to be strong and courageous, to take chances and trust their instincts, to do the right thing even when it’s hard, and to take pain and losses with dignity and pride.

Castiel had been watching Coach Winchester closely. The man was smart and capable, invested in the kids, and focused on their development… not just as players, but as young men.   

Why couldn’t he just have been a few decades older and sporting an unfortunate balding pattern? It was agony to have to watch from the sidelines as a perfectly proportioned man with the angel-kissed face of a male model strutted back and forth, alternating between hearty cheering and tense brooding. Over the course of the season, he’d grown darker too, more tanned. His freckles became more pronounced by the day and his bright green eyes stood out in contrast, even from under the bill of a ball cap.

As far as Cas was concerned, he’d been fucked from day one. There was no fighting the attraction he harbored for this man. The best he could do was continue to be careful. And maybe pray. Yes, pray. Pray that if he ever did get caught and publicly flogged for his indiscretions, that it would happen after his son had grown up and moved away. Then he could suffer through his punishment with the sure and certain knowledge that Jack would be unaffected by it all.

Thinking about the potential consequences of his actions has sent Cas’s mood spiraling down. His cock is wilted beneath his hand now and his sexual appetite has waned. The hand holding the binoculars drops to his lap and a moment later his other is covering his face as shame sets in. He may as well leave. If he’s just going to wallow in self-pity, he may as well do it in the comfort of his own home where there’s air conditioning.  

Ready to leave, he raises his binoculars one last time. Before starting up his vehicle, he wants to be sure of the coach’s position in the garage. After all, once he turns the key, he’ll have to drive right past the man. Looking through the lenses once more, he squints and adjusts the depth until he’s got a clear image of his target.  Zep is still playing, though it’s a slower and more sensual tune now, and the man is still under his car. One hand is twisting a tool and the other is at his abdomen, fingers mindlessly skimming up and down his stomach as he works. The Coach does this often, even when standing upright. To Castiel, this habit marks Dean as a very sexual creature. He probably does the same when he’s sitting idle and watching television or reading a book.

“Oh, Coach Winchester,” he murmurs under his breath.

With his interest freshly piqued, it’s harder than it should be to leave. But he does. The clock is racing up on eleven and that gives him just an hour before Jack’s curfew. Adjusting himself lower in the seat, Cas rolls up the window and starts the car. When he pulls away from the curb and drives past the open garage door, he forces himself to face forward and away to keep his face unseen.

The drive home doesn’t take long since he lives just on the other side of the bridge. But, once he gets there, he has to pull his regular car back out of the garage and drive this one in. Then he’s got to clean it out, cover it, and put away all of his supplies. Including the trench coat. This he shakes out and folds into a plastic storage tub which then gets pushed in with a dozen others near the back of the garage. He feels lighter already, having taken the thing off, but his shirt is sticking to his sweaty back and the sensation is unpleasant.

Before heading inside, he pulls his own car back into its normal place and closes the garage door. Always cautious, he takes one last walk around and carefully eyes the details to be sure that nothing looks amiss. When he’s finally back in the house, it’s twenty minutes to midnight. He goes straight to his bedroom.

Stripping his damp clothes off as he crosses the room, Cas grabs a pair of sleep pants from the dresser before stepping into the bathroom. He turns on the shower, leaving the water a bit on the cool side and climbs in. Meticulously, he washes up and then checks the time as he’s toweling off. It’s now ten minutes until curfew.

Carrying his towel out with him, Cas fingers his damp hair into place as he crosses to the hamper to drop his dirty things in. Then he grabs his robe from the back of the door and pulls it around him. Feeling fresh and clean, and looking the part of a concerned father, he heads downstairs again.

Pacing in the kitchen, Castiel keeps one eye on the clock as it ticks out seconds in time with his steps. At one minute after, he hears a car pull into the driveway followed by the muted sound of a car door. It’s almost three minutes after when young Jack pushes in through the front door and calls out for him.

“Dad?”

“In the kitchen,” he answers, feigning indifference. Just to appear nonchalant, he pulls open the refrigerator and looks inside as if pondering the idea of a midnight snack.

Jack comes bustling into the room.

“You’re pushing it a bit later each night,” Cas tells him.

“Yeah, sorry. Lost track of time. Got any of those burgers left?” he asks.

“Yes,” answers Cas, pulling out a container and handing it over.

“Awesome. I love when you grill.”

Cas stays perched at the fridge while his boy pulls the top off the container and shoves it into the microwave. “Would you like some lemonade?” he offers.

“Nah,” answers Jack, “I’d rather have a Coke.”

“It’s a bit late for caffeine, don’t you think?”

“Dad, there are, like, three days of summer break left. Can’t you wait for school to start before you hound me about stuff like that?”

“I suppose,” he chuckles, slipping into their usual banter with a reluctant smile.

“Is there potato salad?”

“I think so,” he replies as he bends to see. “What did you do tonight?”

“Nothing. Just hung out. Drove around.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, we were going to hit a nightclub,” teases Jack with an impish grin, “but then we remembered that we live in the middle of nowhere - and there isn’t one.”

“I guess living in this veritable wasteland has saved you the exorbitant cost of a fake ID,” grins Cas as he pushes a container to the boy.  

“I saw Hanna Haven at the pool today,” he says without looking up, his eyes fixed on the ambitious plate he’s putting together.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, and she asked about you. Again. I think she’s got a thing for you.”

“I’m sure she was just being polite.”

“Oh c’mon dad, you two would be a match made in heaven. You’re both work-a-holics that button your shirts all the way to the top.”

“Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘opposites attract’?”

“So you’d be more into someone that’s spontaneous and exciting?”

“Jack, you make it sound like I’m boring,” Cas grumbles, picking up the emptied containers and stacking them in the sink. “And, yes,” he quickly adds, “someone exciting would be preferable, if you’re taking requests.”

The two share a brief smile and then Jack takes an ambitious bite of his burger. After that, he doesn’t speak again, choosing instead to inhale his food as fast as he can chew it.

Castiel lingers in the kitchen, idly wondering if Jack might be stoned. He putters around as he considers the possibility. Jack finishes in record time, walks over and drops his dirty plate in the sink, and elbows Cas affectionately as he passes by and says good-night.

It only takes a few minutes to finish cleaning up after his son has gone and, once everything’s back in order, Cas locks up and heads to bed. Once the door to his room is closed he can fully relax. He hangs his robe back up and slides into bed, setting his alarm and turning on the television out of habit. His mind pays no attention to the programming, choosing instead to fantasize about his favorite coach.  

Thinking of the way the man had mindlessly caressed his own body as he worked on his car makes Cas feel warm and tingly inside. Memories of him out at the ball diamond flash to mind as well, especially the shape of his ass in those ridiculous athletic shorts he often wears.

Cas finds himself actually giggling aloud as he thinks of the way Coach Winchester often mutters ‘sonnovahbitch’ under his breath when one of his players does something stupid. The vivid memories mixed with a residual buzz from having watched the man surreptitiously tonight and gotten away with it produce a heady buzz that hums just beneath Cas’s skin.

Before sliding under the car in his garage tonight, Mr. Winchester had pulled off his t-shirt and tossed it aside. Behind his eyelids, Cas is now seeing the replay of it and his dick begins to swell. He can just imagine running his tongue over those dusky nipples, and then dropping lower. The Coach has a light treasure trail and Cas would love to push his nose into it. Follow it down.

His lustful thoughts turn dark quickly now and now he’s grappling with the remote to try and turn up the sound on his TV. He’s about to get off and he’s hoping the volume will cover any errant sounds he might make as he comes. Shucking his cotton bottoms down to his knees, he takes himself firmly in hand and reminds himself to keep quiet to avoid being overheard by his son from down the hall.

Scrunching his eyes shut, he does his best to block out the sing-song commercial playing on TV and focus on nothing but green eyes and tanned, freckled skin. Stripping himself with a heavy hand, Castiel breathes deep and tries to get there; imagines being back there looking through his binoculars again. He tries to imagine Dean masturbating in plain sight… perhaps leaning on that sexy car of his.

Lurid fantasies take over from there, blocking out reality and replacing it with delectable debauchery. When he comes, he does it as quietly as possible, his mouth locked open but no sound coming out. His eyes are clenched shut and his mind is clinging to the bright and alluring fantasy that was so real a moment ago.

Too soon, he’s coming down from the high. His heartbeat begins to slow and the inevitable loneliness sinks back into his bones. He rolls away from the wet spot, curling up on the other side of the bed. Fumbling briefly with the remote, he turns off the television because he no longer needs its background noise to cover the sound of his sins. In the silence that follows, he drifts away to sleep.

 

                                                                                                                                                                                        

 

The sound of his alarm clock is shrill and he hates it. Kicking at his covers, Jack clumsily gets up from the bed and walks over to his dresser. With more force than is strictly necessary, he thumps the snooze button. It’s the first day of school. From now on, this will be how he gets up every day. Sleeping in is over. Baseball is over. Chilling at the pool is over. Late nights with his friends are over.

There are a few things to look forward to with the new school year, but right now he’s too grumpy to bother focusing on them. Rubbing at his watery eyes, Jack heads down the hall for a shower. He comes awake under the hot water, and begins to think clearly. His stomach is growling and he wonders what’s for breakfast as he towels off.

Selecting one of his new shirts, he gets dressed and then pulls out his new shoes. He’d meant to break these in before today but never did. Now, he pulls the laces through the eyelets and ties them on, wondering if they’ll give him blisters.

Tossing a few things into his bag, he heads downstairs. A few steps shy of the bottom he can already detect the aroma of bacon. “That smells awesome,” he says to his father.

The man turns to him and offers a plate. He takes it and sits down at the breakfast bar. Before he even has a chance to ask, his dad is already there filling a cup with juice.

“Is there toast?” Jack asks, digging into his eggs.

“In a sec,” his dad answers, pausing to tend to a skillet on the stove before plucking crisp slices from the toaster and dropping them on the plate.

“S’good,” Jack says as he digs in. He can’t shovel it in fast enough to assuage his voracious appetite.

“There’s more,” volunteers his dad, bringing a skillet over from the stove and sliding a second helping onto his plate.

“Thanks,” he says between bites. Guzzling some juice, he finally slows, the urgency of a ravenous stomach starting to fade. They chat for a few minutes as he eats, his dad not even sitting down but leaning on the counter with his cup of hot tea.

“What are you most looking forward to today?” his father asks.

“M’not sure,” he answers honestly. “I mean, I guess being a Senior. There’s nobody left to push us around anymore… we’re the oldest ones.”

“Is Claire riding with us?”

“No. Her mom’s going to take her since, you know, it’s the first day.”

“Well, let’s leave on time then,” answers his dad. “If Sheriff Mills is going to be at the school, I don’t want to have to speed to get you there on time.”

“Gotcha,” he says as he gets up.

“Hey,” barks his dad when he turns to go grab his bag, “plate to the sink.”

Rolling his eyes to show his irritation, Jack grabs his dishes and carries them over, letting the silverware fall heavily into the sink well. As he passes by his father, he can see that the man is giving his own eye roll. It’s annoying. He quickly brushes his teeth before pulling his bag over his shoulder and heading out.

In the garage, he sees that the door is already open and his father is waiting for him. The man is smiling fondly and holding up his phone. “Last one,” he says, gesturing for Jack to step outside.

“I’m too old to take a ‘back to school picture’,” he complains.

“If I’m not too old, then you’re definitely not too old.”

“C’mon dad,” he starts.

“Is it worth an argument?”

“Definitely not,” he grumbles, traipsing outside to stand by the only tree in their front yard. It’s where they go to take pictures. Always has been. Despite feeling that he should’ve outgrown this tradition by now, he gives his dad a genuine smile. It is, as was said, the last time.

They don’t say much on the way to the school, but it’s only a few minutes. He’ll walk after today, but like the photograph, a ride on the first day is tradition. As he’s getting out of the car, his father leans in with a serious voice and says, “I’m proud of you.”

“It’s the first day and I haven’t even walked in the door yet,” he retorts. “Be proud of me when I’ve actually done something.”

His dad smiles at him. It’s the smile he always gives when he’s got nothing to say back. Jack returns it. Not because he’s feeling especially buoyant, but because he loves his dad. Even if the guy is a goober sometimes.

Once he’s in among his friends, his mood improves significantly. Their energy and excitement are infectious and he finds himself exchanging banter with them as they move down the familiar halls. Everything is fresh and clean; the walls and lockers have been painted and the floors have been waxed. New posters line the hallways. They advertise various student activities and advise making smart choices in everything from school lunches to course selection and college applications.

The brightest spot in his day so far is the appearance of his best friend. She’s just ahead of him and he quickens his pace to walk by her side. Her blond locks bounce as she walks briskly and her dark eyeliner brings his attention to the blue of her eyes. “What do you have first?” he asks as he falls in step with her.

“Bronson,” she answers.

“What class is that?”

“English lit. What about you?”

“Hildebrand for Trig. Next period?”

“Study hall. You?”

“Econ. After that?”

“Government.”

“Fuck. When the hell do we have a class together?”

“Lemme see yours,” she says, grabbing his schedule and stepping to the side of the hall. As they compare their half sheets of paper, the rest of the students continue moving down the hall, shoulders occasionally thumping into them.

“Dammit,” she mutters, “we’ve only got one class together.”

“Which?”

“Health. With Winchester.”

“Well, at least it’ll be a fun class,” he tells her.

“Please. The dude’s a hard-ass.”

“No he’s not. And how would you know? What have you ever had him for?”

“I had him for PE last year. The guy’s a douche canoe. Can’t lay off the whistle.”

“Well, a fat joint says you’re wrong about him,” he grins. “I bet you like him before the week is out.”

“You’re on,” she grins, shoving away from the wall and back out into the flow of students. “Where’s your locker anyway?”

“Down the back hall. See you for lunch?”

“Lunch,” she agrees, hiking her pack up onto her shoulder and disappearing around the corner to the stairs.

Left to his own devices, Jack checks the numbers on his schedule and turns around when he sees he’s come too far. Heading back towards room 210, he falls in with some of the guys from the team and is glad to see that his friend Steve will be in Trig with him. This is good news because though Steve is a slacker who mooches notes and answers constantly, he pays these debts with beer. Thank the gods for dudes with older brothers.

The day passes quickly because there’s hardly any work to be done. Mostly the day consists of signing papers and making lists, getting ID’s and laptops issued, and putting papers into folders without reading them. He and Claire sit with the usual crew at lunch and discuss the latest gossip which is swirling around a new student. They haven’t seen her yet, but word is, she’s smokin’ hot. Having already had his first crush ages ago, the fact that he was into dudes was common knowledge. He’d  come out as gay to his father ages ago and, since then, everyone else as it suited him. So, the news of a new hot girl in school wasn’t huge to Jack the way it was to the other guys, but he’s still curious about the new arrival.

“You’d think they’d at least put some effort into the food on the first day,” complains Claire, gesturing at the lunch on her tray. “I mean, look at this shit.”

“What ever happened to the ‘open campus’ for seniors?” he grumbles in response, thinking of how McDonald’s is within easy walking distance.

“We still get open campus,” says their friend Tyler from across the table, “it just doesn’t start til next week.”

“Good to know,” says Claire, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Only a week of prison rules and then we can start skipping classes.”

Jack is smiling until he sees her expression change. Turning to follow her gaze, he sees what can only be the new girl. She’s obvious, even from across the room. She’s got dark eyes and her hair is pulled back from her face. She’s wearing a vintage bomber jacket that looks authentic and she walks like she owns the school. He’s leaning in to say as much to Claire, and that’s when he sees it. A glimmer of something that he’s hardly ever seen. Interest. Claire is blasé about most everything, but this girl, she’s clearly quite intrigued by.

He watches Claire watch the new girl. In fact, most everyone is watching the new girl as she strides past. There’s a noticeable lull in conversation as it happens. Sure, she’s nice looking. But Jack’s pretty sure it’s her confidence, not her looks, that are getting her so much lip service for being ‘hot’.

Claire is riveted. He swings his hand back and forth in front of her face like a metronome to break the spell and get her attention. To his surprise, she bats it away and gives him a ‘back off’ look that’s usually reserved for her adoptive mother, Jody, whom Claire calls by name.

“Dude, chill,” he tells her, wondering what the big deal is. She dismisses him easily and then gets up from the table a beat before the bell rings and heads off down the hall.

“I’ll just get this for you,” he calls after her, picking up her tray with his own as he adds, “Your Highness.”

The few who still remain at their table chuckle at his joke, and then they disband, each heading for their next class. He doesn’t see Claire again until Health. He dutifully saves her a seat in the back row, but before she even enters, Mr. Winchester is already harassing him and the other guys from the team about sitting in the back row like ‘problem children’.

Heavily coerced into moving up, he and the other guys roll their eyes and move, taking seats in the second row and falling into conversation with their coach about the scores from that weekend’s games. When Claire does enter, she sees Jack in the second row and looks at him as though he’s grown a second head. But, she dutifully sits down next to him anyway and drops her bag to the floor between her legs.

“Dude. Suck up much?” she teases.

Jack catches Mr. Winchester’s eye as it’s said and he can’t help but grin as he watches the man bite his lip to keep silent when there had clearly been a retort on the tip of his tongue. Knowing the coach, it had simply been too inappropriate for the classroom. They share a commiserating smile and then the bell rings so he drops his eyes to the paper in front of him. It’s a syllabus, but it’s by far the simplest he’s ever seen. Literally a few bullet points on a single sheet of paper.

“Welcome to Health Class,” says Mr. Winchester as he rises from behind his desk to address the room. “This is the class you don’t need to study for, unless you’re Ms. Rosen.”

The class chuckles lightly among themselves and then everyone sits back in their chairs to listen to what Winchester has to say. He introduces himself as he passes out textbooks and then explains that, for today, they’ll just be introducing themselves. He asks that they go around the room and rise to give their names, their grade level, and one thing that they expect to be taught, but already know about.

The various answers provided to that question are quite humorous, whether they were meant to be or not, and the class laughs away its forty minutes easily as the introductions give way to discussions of how everyone spent their summer.  

“What about you, Mr. Winchester?” challenges one of the guys, “You got married over the summer, right?”

Jack had heard that the coach was getting married, but hadn’t realized that the big day had come and gone while school was out. Looking up at his coach and teacher, Jack was surprised at the look on the man’s face. He seemed sickeningly sad and appeared to grow uncomfortable as he tried to answer the question. In fact, he actually sat back down in his chair before finally speaking. “Well,” he says, looking at the back of his hand, “as you can see, there’s no ring on it.”

“What happened?” asks Krissy Chambers, a frenemy of Claire's.

“It’s hard to say exactly,” their teacher replies, rubbing his hand awkwardly on the back of his neck. “But I guess the best answer is just that we both decided we were better off as friends.”

“Friends?” an incredulous voice from the back of the room called out. “Who wants to be ‘just friends’ with Ms. Braeden? She’s a frickin’ MILF.”

“Hey,” snaps the coach, “you kiss your mother with that mouth? Show some respect.”

A faint, “Sorry, Coach,” is audible from the back in response.

Jack watches Mr. Winchester carefully and it’s easy to see that whatever had gone wrong between him and Ms. Braeden, the man still feels very protective of her. Jack had never had a class with her and all he knew of her was what he’d heard from other students, which generally consisted of, ‘Dude, she’s hot as fuck’.

“So,” asks Krissy hopefully, “are you seeing anyone now?”

“I’m seeing my dentist on Thursday,” he jokes, seeming to recover himself. And then, he cleverly moves the conversation along to other topics before anyone can pry further.

Jack can’t help but compare Mr. Winchester to his dad right now. The wounded look that he’d worn on his face while discussing his break up was startlingly similar to the one his father wears every time Jack asks about his mother.

Her death is something that Jack tries not to dwell on because it always leaves him empty and aching. But, when he has questions, his father can be counted on to answer them. Then, he’ll talk of her, even though doing so is obviously painful. Jack feels nothing but empathy for his coach.

When the final bell rings and brings an end to the first day of school, Jack makes his way to his locker and collects his things. As he is loading up his bag, he catches sight of Claire cutting through the crowd towards him. He signals to her and they both turn in the direction of the main hall, coming shoulder to shoulder as they enter it. On the way to the exit, they talk about sign-ups for football and cheerleading.

“I’m not going out this year,” he tells her. “I’m too small and I never get any playing time. It’s not worth the grueling practices.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not cheering this year either.”

“Why not?”

“Because I fucking hate it. It’s not my scene. I’ve just always done it because everyone tells me I should. I mean, is it just because I’m blonde? Does that make me an automatic cheer clone?”

“Well, you do look the part,” he admits, thinking of how good she looks in the little skirt and sweater.

“I’m tired of being what everybody thinks I should be. I think it’s time for me to be what I _want_ to be.”

“And what do you want to be?” he asks her, pushing through the heavy door and out into the sunshine. .

“Who fucking knows,” she growls. The minute their eyes meet, both are laughing. She’s so pretty in this light, golden sun bringing out the blush in her cheeks, the clarity of her eyes, and the highlights in her hair. “I think I wanna learn to play guitar,” she tells him as they start walking across the lot, “Maybe start up a band.”

“Get a windowless van and sleep in the back after your gigs?”

“Something like that,” she nods. “Wanna poke around Goodwill for a bit?”

“Sure.”

They walk a few blocks out of their way to the strip mall that shares a parking lot with the discount store. Entering the second hand store, they put in earbuds and begin to scour the racks of used clothing.  

They both try on a few things, but neither finds anything worth buying so they then move over to the albums and spend a few minutes flipping through them. After that, they try on hats and sunglasses. Claire finds a cheesy beret that she seems to like so Jack fishes out a few singles and buys it for her, along with a pair of sunglasses that he thinks make him look a few years older.

Back outside, wearing their purchases, the two head for home. Rounding the corner by the fire station, they turn left and look down the hill. Main Street is at their feet, downhill all the way to the river. From this vantage, they can see the shops on both sides of the street, and the bridge a few blocks down.

Heading in that direction as they talk, Claire steers them over one street so that they’re walking behind the shops on main. They pass by the furniture store, the hardware store, and the beauty salon. Taking this route leads them to the same bridge, but instead of walking over it, they are able to walk out onto the river bank instead.

Once they’ve moved out into the open, Jack looks up at the bridge. It’s pretty, he thinks, with antique street lamps adorning it and the old Mill rising up in the background. Even from here, the sound of the adjacent waterfall is heavy and loud. Taking a well-worn path, they walk up to the bridge and then under it, the arches of its base now towering high over their heads.  

Seating themselves on a concrete embankment, directly under the massive structure, Jack waits as Claire digs into her bag and pulls out a joint. She tucks it between her lips and then cups her hand around it to shield her lighter from the wind as she lights it up.

Jack finds his eyes resting on her nail polish. It’s black and so weathered that only the center of each fingernail still has any color on it. He can’t help but think that she already had the hands of a guitar player, her nails short and bitten down to the quick rather than perfectly manicured the way most of the girls seem to prefer.

As she takes a deep drag, he turns away from her and watches the water roll past them. Here in the shade, it looks dark green - almost brown.

They can only come down here when the water level is low. When it rains, the water rises to bury both the walkway they’ve just used and the low concrete wall that they currently perch on. The summer sun had been beating down on them as they walked, but here it’s nice and cool. The trade-off is that it stinks. The river being low means that it’s slow moving and a nasty, fishy scent hangs pungent in the air around them.

Ignoring the unpleasant odor, he turns his head back to his friend and takes the joint when she passes it to him. He closes his eyes as he inhales, taking in as much as he can without inciting a coughing fit. Opening his eyes as he holds his breath for as long as he can, Jack turns to look at the falls. He can’t actually see the mill from this vantage, but it’s there, just out of sight.

The falls stretch the width of the river, right there next to the mill which once used the rushing water to generate power. Now, the building is a museum. It hosts a farmers market on Saturday mornings and Jack’s father has been bringing him that market for as long as he can remember.  

Exhaling a long breath, he immediately sucks in another hit, taking it deep and closing his eyes again as it works its magic on him. It settles his nerves, calms his chaotic mind, and helps him relax and enjoy things… like these little private moments with Claire.

“You going to ask Jody for guitar lessons?” he inquires, his mind effortlessly looping back to their previous discussion.

“Yeah, but even if she says no, I’m gonna do it.”

“I’ve heard that people can teach themselves how to play guitar,” he nods absentmindedly.

“Yeah. Or I can just get a part time job to pay for the lessons. I mean, without cheer practice and volleyball, I’m gonna have all kinds of time.”

“You’re quitting volleyball too?”

“Would you wanna play volleyball every day?”

“No,” he chuckles.

“Well, me neither. And did you know they make us run stair laps? Why the _fuck_ do they make us run stair laps and line drills for that sport? You pretty much stand in one spot and hardly move. Seriously. Why line drills?”

“No fucking clue,” he grins, passing her the smoke. “Sounds like guitar lessons are a decent trade off.”

“Yeah. But if I show up and they make me run laps, I’ll quit that too.”

“I think I should set my dad up with someone,” he says, his mind now drifting in a new direction.

“Why?”

“Well, I’m supposed to go off to college next year, right?”

“If you can ever fucking pick one, then yeah.”

“Well, how am I supposed to just go off and live my life, knowing that I’ve left my dad alone in this shitty little town to just grow old and die?”

“That’s a morbid thought.”

“No kidding,” he affirmed. “He’s going to be knocking around in that big old house with no one to even cook for anymore. I really think I have to find him someone before I leave.”

“It’s not your job to find your dad a wife, Jack.”

“Or a husband,” he adds. “Honestly, I think he prefers men. And I know it’s not my my job to fix him up. But he’s my dad, Claire. I want him to be happy.”

“And he’s not?” she asks, eyes imploring.

“I don’t think so… not really. He probably thinks he is because he’s too busy taking care of me to notice. But once I’m gone, what’s he going to have left?”

“He’s hot for a dad,” she quips off-handedly. “When he’s ready, he’s not going to have any trouble finding somebody.”

“I s’pose,” he sighs, hoping she’s right but not able to really believe it.

“Hey,” she says, grasping his arm, “why not sign him up for a dating app?”

In response to her infectious grin, Jack can’t help but laugh. “Sure. We’ll put my dad on Tinder and see how that goes.”

“Or Grindr.”

“Ugh, don’t even joke,” he barks, shaking off a full-body shiver.

Claire’s laughing hard again and falls into a coughing fit. It’s impossible not to laugh at her facial expressions. He takes the smoking butt from her and hits it again while she’s recovering.

“No,” he says thoughtfully on the exhale, “I’m not going to just throw him out on the internet and see what he can drag home. I owe him more than that. He’s been taking care of me my whole life… doing the job of two parents. I want to, like, actually find someone for him. You know, set him up.”

“Okay, any ideas on who? If you’re looking for a man for him, this town isn’t exactly an epicenter of LGBT activity you know. The nearest gay bar is, like, ninety minutes away.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that.”

“No kidding. Who’ve you got in mind?”

“Mr. Winchester.”

Claire is suddenly laughing again and he takes a few puffs as he waits for her fit to subside. Through broken laughter, she winds up telling him that Mr. Winchester is lacking the ‘gay gene’ he needs for something like that to work out.

“Um, I actually think he’s into dudes,” Jack replies. “I mean, I’m pretty sure.”

“Sorry, Jack, but he’s straight. You need to check your gay-dar. I think it’s malfunctioning.”

“I’m telling you,” he insists, “I’ve seen him, like, looking.”

“Looking how?”

“Well, it’s subtle,” he admits, “but it’s there. He just kind of looks for a second or two longer than most straight guys would.”

“Well,” she sighs, taking the burnt down remains of the joint from him, “you would know better than me. But I gotta tell ya, he seems pretty damn straight. Hell, he was engaged all last year. And not to a dude.”

“Maybe that’s why he didn’t go through with the wedding,” snaps Jack. He has no idea why he’s suddenly feeling so defensive. Looking down at his feet, he tries to calm down as Claire takes the final hit from their shared joint and then hops up to crush its remains into the ground at their feet.

He knows it’s a longshot, but it’s bugging him the way she dismissed the idea so quickly. Especially because he knows his dad likes the Coach, more than that, he respects him. Following Claire’s lead, he gets up and prepares to leave. Together they walk out from under the bridge and back into the warmth of late afternoon sunshine. “You really think my dad is hot?”

“For a dad,” she reiterates, as they begin climbing upwards, “he’s hot _for a dad_. Don’t go gettin’ any crazy ideas.”

“Crazy ideas like setting him up with Jody?”

“Ew, don’t even.”

Grinning, he steps up onto the path with her and they both turn to look back down at the river. It’s pretty from up here. Claire’s hair blows across her face with the gentle breeze and he watches her tuck it behind her ear. They smile at each other warmly and she adds, “Jody could do worse.”


	2. Deviation From Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Destiella had her work cut out for her with this chapter. I appreciate her so very much, and if you guys could've seen my first draft, you'd appreciate her too!

 

                                                                                 

 

Jack leans in, peering through clear plastic to observe his little furballs as they scurry about. Seeing one unmoving in its little edible house, he pops open the access door and reaches inside.

“Hey Sleepy,” he coos as he carefully scoops the hamster into his palm. Its little black eyes open to lazily gaze up at him. “You eat yourself into a food coma again, huh buddy?”

The little guy doesn’t struggle, but he does turn over to get his tiny little paws under himself. Glancing back at the cage, Jack sees that Speedy has come to a dead halt in the plastic tube that winds around the top. Peering out at Jack, he tips his head and begins licking his two front paws as he clearly ponders what’s happening outside of the cage.

“You’ll get your turn,” he grins. “And so will you, Spazzy. I just wanna get a minute with this little guy before he eats himself to death.”

Bringing the tiny ball of fluff to his face, Jack smiles contentedly as he nuzzles the little guy. “You’re too cute for your own good,” he sighs. “I can’t stop giving you treats.”

Smiling indulgently as he does it, he lifts a small piece of carrot from the arsenal of treats he keeps in a tupperware container nearby. Offering it from the tips of his fingers, he finds himself amused by the way the little guy’s eyes snap wide from their drowsy state to immediately become keen with interest. Sniffing at the morsel, his whiskers twitch excitedly and he snatches the vegetable with his two front paws. He’s obviously happy as he snuggles down in the comfort of Jack's hand to enjoy his snack. It’s so strange how Jack has watched this little mongrel eat greedily more times than he can count, but it’s never any less adorable.

From over his shoulder there’s a knock. Without looking up, he answers, “Yeah?”

“Hey,” says his dad, opening the door to lean in a bit, “I just wanted to let you know that I’m home and that we have about twenty minutes until we need to leave.”

“I’ll be ready,” he answers, having only glanced up for a second.

“Would you like a snack? A little something to tide you over until dinner?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Jack nods absentmindedly as he watches furry brown cheeks fill and grow wider. When the little guy is done eating, he sets him gently back in the cage. Speedy has resumed darting from one tunnel to the next and Spazzy has taken chase. He watches the three of them for just a moment more. Then, having checked the level of water in their dispenser, he turns towards his bedroom door. His father had left it hanging open when he’d made his exit and Jack pushes it closed now so that he can get changed.

Pulling a pair of old, worn out jeans from his dresser, he steps out of his good ones and into the ratty ones. Trading his new shirt for an old tee covered in holes and paint splatters, he then dumps the contents of his book bag onto the bed. The first few days back in school were easy and fun, but now the drudgery of it all has set in. He’s got more homework than he cares to do and the constant maelstrom of drama that circulates through the school is a distraction that never seems to end.

Checking his phone, Jack finds snaps, messages, and texts that have come in while he wasn’t paying attention. Responding to each, he loses ten of his twenty minutes and ends it by sending Claire a snap of himself in his shitty clothes. Then he heads to the bathroom across the hall to pee. Darting back into his room for a beat, he grabs a ball cap from the hook and tries not to look at the pile of books on his bed that will be waiting when he gets home.

“Hey, Dad,” he greets Castiel when entering the kitchen.

“I made you a sandwich,” Cas says, pushing a plate across the breakfast bar. “Would you like some fruit with it?”

“Sure. Thanks, Dad.”

With a knowing smile, his father grabs a cold Pepsi from the fridge and presents it to him. “You’ll probably be needing some caffeine tonight,” he says as justification for the indulgence. Watching the man cut an apple into slices, Jack teases, “Hey, I’m not the one pushing forty. If anyone needs caffeine around here, it’s you.”

“Right you are,” his dad concedes, reaching out to take the can back from him.

Laughing as his dad tries and fails to retrieve it, Jack continues to evade the man, pulling the can away, first over one shoulder and then the other. “Too late,” he laughs, “you already gave it to me, it’s mine!”

“For someone who doesn’t need it, you’re working awfully hard to keep it,” Castiel says flatly, obviously trying to keep a straight face.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want it,” Jack grins as he defends his can. “Get your own.”

“I’m afraid I need something a little stronger,” replies his father, finally relenting. Abandoning their game of keep away, he turns toward the coffee maker. Grabbing and busies himself with serving up a cup as Jack returns his attention to eating. Alternating bites of sandwich and apple, he fills his stomach.

Glancing at his watch, his father mumbles something about the time and begins cleaning up. As they finally head out, his dad is growing tense. He always does when he thinks they’re not running on schedule. Climbing into the car, Jack pops in his earbuds and selects a playlist on his phone. Losing himself online for the duration of the drive, the twenty minute ride feels more like ten.

When they arrive in Hastings, the next town over, Jack looks up from his phone and at his father. In the driver’s seat with two hands on the wheel, the man seems calmer now, even if he’s no less rigid than usual. A glance at the clock on the dash reveals why. They’re back on schedule. Castiel Kline hates to be late. Hates it. Honestly, he’s so stiff and formal that he carries the persona of a retired military officer. Regardless of how his father can seem to others, Jack knows that on the inside he’s soft and warm, even funny sometimes - though it’s usually unintentional.

When they arrive at their destination, the Maple Valley Humane Society, a muffled chorus of barking dogs can be heard from the parking lot. They head for the entrance, Jack still wearing his earbuds but tucking his phone into his back pocket as they push through the door. Together they step up to the counter to sign in. Plucking the small speaker from one of his ears, Jack hangs it on the neck of his t-shirt and listens as Garth, one of his favorites among the full-time staff, explains what they’ll be doing tonight.

For the first hour, Jack is tasked with his favorite activity. He’s walking dogs. Others have nearly finished the rotation already so he divides his time between three adorable mutts. The purpose of this is to insure that each has had some time outside, some human interaction, and some practice on a leash. It’s not an easy job, though. All three animals act as though they’ve never been tethered to a human before, and have been trapped in their kennel for a solid month. Keeping a brisk pace, he circles the front courtyard again and again, greeting other volunteers and their canines as they make the rounds.

Each time he goes back inside to trade one dog for another, Jack catches a glimpse of his father. The man’s on shit duty. Moving from kennel to kennel with a handful of others, his dad has been tasked with cleaning out each cage while it’s empty.

After that, father and son work side by side for a while. Unloading pallets of dog food from a truck and into a store room winds up being hard work and they’re both sweating by the time it’s finished. Moving on to the last task of the evening, they spend their final hour feeding and watering the cats that are caged in the isolation room. Most of the cats share a communal room near the front of the facility that is stocked with all they need. There, the floor to ceiling windows make it easy for potential adopters to watch them as they nap and play. However, the cats that have been caged in this smaller isolation room have been confined here for any number of reasons. Some have just had surgery while others are being prepped for one. Many are ill and on medication, possibly contagious. A few are orphaned and nursing by bottle, waiting here until a foster home can be found.

He and his dad don’t say much to each other as they go about their work. Jack is listening to music and his father is fully focused on the felines. He talks to each one as he fills their dishes. He pets those that want love and speaks softly to them, carefully avoiding physical contact with the cats who appear uncomfortable with human touch. It’s impossible not to love his father in moments like this, when his more formal exterior falls away to reveal the sweetness at his core.

They finish up the last of the work in this room, resealing the food containers and sweeping up the floor. Then they head back to the main counter.

Jack greets the man at the desk as they approach once again. “Hey Garth, you got anything else for us?”

Humming as he checks over his clipboard, the gangly man eventually looks up to say, “Nope. I think you guys can call it a night. Thanks so much for coming. I don’t know what we’d do without volunteers like you coming in to help out.”

From beside him, Jack sees his father leaning in to sign out for the night and as he does, he replies, “We’re happy to help, and we’ll see you again on Thursday evening.”

“Will you be at the adoption event on Saturday?”

“Yes, we’re signed up for that,” his father confirms with a nod.

“That’s good to hear,” smiles Garth, his posture remaining relaxed despite the rigidity of the man he’s speaking to. “We’re planning on bringing the small animals too, and I think you’d be the best one to assist in that area. But, I wasn’t sure you’d even make it since it’s an out-of-town event.”

Jack takes his turn signing out as his father answers, “We actually live in Valley Falls, so it’s quite convenient.”

“We’re at The Mill almost every Saturday morning anyway,” adds Jack. He throws a teasing smile at his dad before looking back at Garth. “Dad never misses the farmers’ market. He’s been dragging me to it every weekend since I was a kid.”

“You used to love it,” retorts his father.

“Yeah, Dad, it was cool. When I was four.”

“Your attendance isn’t mandatory,” his dad counters, face growing stern.

Garth is looking back and forth between them like a spectator at a volleyball game.

“Awesome,” Jack grins, glad to be off the hook, “I’ve always wanted to sleep in on Saturdays.”

“That’s fine. But this week you’ll still be getting up, since you’re signed up to help with the adoption event. After that you may do what you like.”

“Cool,” he says, putting his earbuds back in. It isn’t easy to ignore the flicker of hurt he sees in his father’s eyes. But he’ll make it up to the man somehow, if it means sleeping late on Saturdays from now on.

Turning towards the exit, they both hold up a hand to Garth in farewell and then push through the door. Crossing the lot, Jack wants to thaw the coldness that had sprung up during their exchange about the farmers’ market. So, when he veers away and walks around the car to the passenger side, he thumps his dad on the arm and gives him a hopeful smile. That’s all it takes. His father’s answering smile is reassurance that the two of them are fine. By the time they’re pulling out onto the street, he’s asking Jack where they should eat dinner.

Jack always got to choose the restaurant after volunteering hours are over. It’s kind of a treat, he suspects, a nicety afforded to him in gratitude for not complaining about the time spent working for free.

Logging hours at the Humane Society had been his father's idea back before Jack could even drive. As a long time volunteer, he’d come home one night talking about what a great idea it was for Jack to sign up as well. It would be good for him, his father had said, and it would look great on his college applications.

Begrudgingly, he’d agreed to give it a try. That had been back in his sophomore year. Now, he’s a senior. These days, Jack can’t imagine quitting. He loves helping out at the shelter, despite the occasional heartbreaks that seem to come with the job.

“Jack?”

His father’s voice pulls him from his musings and he looks over at the man. “What?”

“I said, where would you like to eat?”

“Oh, sorry. Um, a buffet sounds good. I’m starving.”

“Pizza or Chinese?”

“Pizza, please.”

Still looking at his father's profile in the fading light of dusk, he eyes the man’s stubble. It’s growing darker by the hour, a clean shave never even lasting through the workday, let alone the evening hours. Jack wonders if he’ll have facial hair like that someday and closes his eyes for a moment to imagine how he’d look with a beard.

They park at Pizza Ranch, a venue they frequent regularly. It’s decorated in a kitschy cowboy motif and boasts ridiculous offerings like ‘The Bronco’ and ‘The Roundup’ and ‘The Trailblazer’ pizzas. But, aside from it’s glaring imperfections, the place stays busy because everything they serve is delicious. They offer buffet over both the lunch and dinner hours, which features both the  typical pizza fare and also fried chicken with all the trimmings. If you’re hungry, it’s the place to go.

“Good evening,” greets the cashier when they step up, “what can I get for you?”

Jack leans on the counter as his father answers, “Two for the buffet please, and two large drinks.”

As she’s taking his father's cash and making change, she asks the standard question. “Is there any particular pizza you’d like us to add to the buffet?”

In response to that question, Jack sees his father look over questioningly. He shrugs. He’s hungry enough to eat pizza off the floor and he’s going to pile his plate high, but he doesn’t have a particular flavor that he’s hoping for.

“I don’t think so,” his father answers, taking the cups when they’re handed to him and passing one to Jack.

The two head into the restaurant and by-pass the tables in hopes of finding an empty booth along the wall or in the back. They luck out and and slide into one so newly cleaned that it’s top is still wet. Dropping their belongings to claim the table, they turn towards the food. His father stops at the salad bar and begins making a plate, but Jack steps around him and heads straight for the good stuff. Piling his first plate high with several different types of pizza and breadsticks, he then drops his plate at the table before heading back to fill his soda cup. When they’re settled in, they eat in silence for a bit, each checking their phones between bites and then relaxing to enjoy their dinner. Later, when the two of them return to the buffet, Jack dishes himself up a heaping helping of fried chicken with potatoes and gravy. When they’ve both emptied their second plates, they make a final trip to grab dessert pizza and ice-cream before leaving. It’s only then, when they’re stuffed, that they really begin to chat.

“How’s school been going?” his father prompts, a spoonful of dessert poised mid-air.

“S’okay,” he shrugs.

“Are you enjoying the ‘senior status’ as much as you’d thought you would?”

“Yeah,” he says, scooping another bite of creamy goodness, “but I’m not being mean to the freshmen if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I didn’t figure you would be. Have you made any new friends this year?”

“A few, I suppose. We got a new girl.”

“New to your class?”

“No, she’s a junior. But Claire pulled her into our lunch table, so I guess I have to get used to her.”

“You don’t like her?”

“I don’t hate her.”

“What is it that keeps you from actually liking her?”

“I don’t know,” he admits honestly, “I guess mostly it’s the way she acts… like she thinks she’s better than us. Claire doesn’t seem to notice it though. She thinks Kaia is the shit… talks about her constantly.”

“I’m sorry, Jack. It can’t be easy to watch someone you don’t care for become part of your group.”

Scooping up a large spoonful of ice-cream and topping, Jack eats it slowly as he thinks about things at school. Swallowing and dropping his spoon to the table, he says, “I didn’t realize how much it was really bugging me until you asked about it.”

“Give it time,” consoles his father with imploring eyes. “I suspect that one of two things will eventually happen. Either you’ll get to know Kaia better and come to like her more than you do now, or Claire will get to know her better and start to see her the way that you do.”

“I hope so,” Jack mutters, pushing away his dish. “You ready to go?”

“Yes.”

He follows his father to the car and as they climb in, his dad asks him about his homework. With a sigh, he admits he has a lot and isn’t feeling up to it.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Nope,” he answers morosely as he buckles up. “But thanks for offering.”

As expected, the pile of homework waiting on his bed sucks beyond the telling of it. He does his math first, figuring he’ll get it out of the way. Moving on to his Econ assignment, he finds his eyes already blurring. He isn’t especially tired, just tired of doing things he doesn’t want to do. Snapping back and forth with Claire and a few others as he works, he tries to be mature and finish. But, the temptation to just set it all aside and turn on the television is strong.

Fighting it, Jack tries to remind himself that soon he’ll be off at college. It will be the time of his life, that’s what everyone promises, but it will also test him. He’ll be responsible for doing homework without being prompted or monitored and with no one down the hall to come and check up on him. He has to learn to make himself do stuff like this or he’ll wind up failing out of school and have to come home feeling disgraced. That thought is unsavory enough, but following it up with the idea of having to get a job somewhere like The Pizza Ranch winds up being sufficient motivation to get him through the completion of what he’s working on. Just as he is exchanging his Econ book for Government, there is a knock at his door.

“Yeah?”

“I thought I’d see how you were doing,” says his father, once again pushing his head in.

“I’m tired, but I’m almost done.”

“I brought you a snack,” he says as he pushes into the room.

Jack smiles as he sees a bag of Cheetos and a can of Mountain Dew in the man’s hands.

“Thanks,” he says as Castiel sets the items down on his nightstand, “but I’m still full from dinner.”

“Oh, okay,” replies his dad, picking it back up again.

“You can leave the Mountain Dew,” Jack smiles.

“What do you have left?”

“Just Government,” he answers, gesturing to the thick, heavy textbook in his lap.

“A paper?”

“No. I just have to read. There’s a quiz tomorrow.”

“All you have left is reading?”

“Yeah?” he replies hesitantly. He can practically see the gears turning in his father’s mind and can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.

The man is already dressed for bed, his striped pajamas sticking out from under a dark blue robe. He doesn’t speak, he just tucks the bag of Cheetos under his arm and begins collecting the scattered books and folders from Jack’s bed. “I have an idea,” he says as he neatly stacks things onto the adjacent desk, “Why don’t you get ready for bed and then I’ll read to you?”

“You want to read to me?” Jack repeats in surprise.

“Sure, like I did when you were young, remember?”

“I remember,” he says warmly. “But somehow I don’t think you reading _Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel_ to me is going to help my homework situation.”

“No,” his father replies, leaning in to turn on his bedside lamp. “I’ll read your text book to you. If you want.”

A laugh bubbles up from his chest before he can stop it and it slips out. Hearing it, his dad grimaces and takes a step back. His face reddens a shade and he begins to fumble, “That was… well, that was a silly thought. I-I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.”

Watching his father turn away, Jack’s heart fissures a little. “Wait,” he calls, “that, um, well that actually sounds kind of nice.” The man turns back to him with a glimmer of hope in his eyes and it’s impossible to regret adding, “Really Dad, I think that would be awesome.”

“Alright,” he says as he steps back towards the door.

When he leaves, he takes the unused bag of Cheetos with him. Taking a deep breath and letting it go, Jack gets to his feet and heads for the bathroom. All he can think about is how lucky he is to have such a doting parent. A small piece of him quivers at that moment - reminding him that he’s incomplete. That he’s motherless. But he shakes it off as he sets to brushing his teeth. He’s got a dad who loves him enough for two parents, and that’s what he always tries to focus on when he’s secretly wishing for more.

By the time his father returns, knocking lightly on the door which has been left ajar, Jack is in his favorite pajamas and under the covers with his alarm already set.

When he’s granted entry, the man switches off the overhead light. With only the gentle glow of lamplight illuminating the room, Jack watches his father cross it and seat himself on the edge of the bed. Sinking down into his pillows, Jack gets comfy as he says, “Chapter three, sections one through four. That’s the assignment.”

It’s a squeeze for his dad to get situated on the bed with him, but when they’ve both arranged their limbs to fit, Jack watches his father turn pages to find the correct passage. Then, he takes a deep breath as he begins to read and doesn’t look up again.

“Civil Liberties and the Constitution,” he begins, emphasizing the words to show that he’s reading the chapter’s title. Jack closes his eyes and listens as his dad, in a gravelly and slightly strained voice, begins reading the text. “The Constitution as written in 1787 did not contain a Bill of Rights, although the idea of adding one was proposed and briefly discussed before it was dismissed in the final week of the Constitutional Convention. The framers of the Constitution believed that they faced much more pressing concerns than the protection of civil rights and liberties, most notably keeping the fragile union together in light of internal unrest and external threats…”

As Castiel reads, Jack can hear the man’s tension fading away. Though his dad’s voice has always been deep and sometimes scratchy, it’s relaxing because of his tone and pace. He doesn’t rush when he reads and he pauses appropriately for punctuation. Listening to his text book is vastly preferable to reading it, and Jack finds himself utterly content in the moment. They used to do this every night when he was little. First it would be bath time, then teeth brushing, then jammies, and then, finally, it would be story time. Jack had his favorites and so did his father. Often they’d indulge in more than one story before finally turning off the light and exchanging hugs.

He has no idea how old he’d been when that nightly tradition had started to die out, but at some point it had. Ages ago. Now, as he lays there basking in the nostalgia of this long-forgotten pleasure, Jack feels moisture gathering at the corner of his eyes. Unwilling to allow even a single tear to creep out and give away his sentimentality, he keeps eyes closed and snuggles into his pillow. _I didn’t even know how much I was missing this_ , he thinks to himself.

When he feels himself starting to drift off, he fights it. If his father is willing to sit bedside and read twenty-ish pages of dry, educational text, the least he can do is stay awake to listen. Forcing himself to sit up, he pretends to fluff his pillow and get re-situated. Once again looking over at his father, he watches the man read and listens closely. But even as he works to retain the information, part of his mind is branching off to ponder just how much this man must love him. Acknowledging that requires him to once again to admit to himself that when he goes off to school next year, his father will be left lonely and lost without him.

Long after the reading is finished, the lamp is turned off, and ‘goodnights’ have been said, Jack’s mind is still churning. He thinks of all kinds of different ways to help his father make the adjustment to an empty house… everything from getting him a dog to finding him a spouse. When he wakes in the morning, he gets ready for school like normal. But, still with him is the warm feeling of being read to last night, and the firm commitment that he simply must find someone else for his father to love before heading off to college.

His school day is interesting to say the least. He scores a ninety-eight percent on his quiz in Government, they serve his favorite lunch in the cafeteria, he winds up with a substitute teacher in Trig, and then his world implodes as he’s waiting for Claire at her locker.

Watching the big junction of halls which is only about twenty feet away, he sees her coming around the corner. There’s a smile on her face that he rarely sees… the electric one that makes her impossible to look away from. He’s her closest friend, and even he rarely sees it. But here she comes, walking his way and not even noticing him. She’s side by side with Kaia and the two are focused solely on one another; their eyes are locked and their expressions are exuberant. Not only is Claire flashing her most brilliant smile, but it’s being returned. Kaia is every bit as vibrant, her dark eyes wide and soft and fixated on Claire as if she’s the center of the universe. It’s at this moment that he realizes why he hasn’t warmed to Kaia. It’s this. It’s the way that she looks at his friend. And the way his friend looks back.

Claire is nearly standing on top of him before she realizes that Jack is there, and even then she barely looks at him. She knows he’s waiting to walk her to Health class, but her eyes are still hovering on Kaia. The new girl laments how unfair it is that they get to go to an easy class now, while she’s stuck going to calculus. As she backs away, she promises Claire that she’ll snap her at least twice during class.

The two don’t need to hold hands or embrace for Jack to understand that there’s something intimate growing between them. The spark of it had likely been present when the girls first met and he'd failed to notice it. However, in a matter of days that spark has grown into a burning flame that can be seen from twenty paces. Eventually the growing fire will consume them in love and lust, keeping them focused on each other above anyone else and leaving him with no one.  

Jealousy slithers through his stomach like a snake and he feels nauseous.

“You ready?” she asks, finally focusing on him.

“Yeah,” he manages, only now realizing that Kaia had departed while his world was tipping upside down.  

“What’s up with you?” she grumbles.

“How do you mean?”

“Dude. You look, like, I don’t know, sick or something.”

“I’m fine,” he says, turning to follow as she begins walking.

“You don’t look fine. Wanna skip class and go burn one?”

“N-No,” he answers, trying to recover himself. “If we’re going to skip a class, let’s at least make it one that we hate, right?”

“Fair point,” she agrees, tossing her hair over her shoulder and adjusting the strap of her backpack.

Rounding the corner and approaching Mr. Winchester’s classroom, Jack finally falls into step with Claire. “I’ll hit that with you after school though,” he adds, wanting to make sure that she still plans to walk home with him as usual.

“Dude,” she says flatly as they walk into the classroom, “what’s that smell?”

“That smell,” replied Mr. Winchester from behind his desk, “is nauseating. I’ve been gagging on it all day. Apparently they’re dissecting fetal pigs in the lab next door.”

A collective ‘Ewww’ rises up from the other students as Jack and Claire find their seats. The first few minutes of class are entirely devoted to complaining about the stench, which Jack has to admit is relentlessly putrid. The fact that the windows are open doesn’t seem to be helping. The noxious scent continues to permeate the room, always lingering until a small gust of breeze carries it away. Relief is short, the heavy and cloying scent setting in again just moments later.

Flipping his book open to their current chapter, Social and Emotional Health, Jack sits back and listens as Mr. Winchester steers the class into a discussion of today's topic. Rarely content to sit behind his desk, Mr. Winchester paces back and forth at the front of the classroom like he usually does, pausing occasionally to answer a question or ask one.

When he’s content that the current topic has been sufficiently covered, he pauses again and looks out over the students. “So, before we move on,” he says, “are there any other questions about social norms?”

The room was silent for a beat, and the coach resumed his pacing. “Okay then, let’s discuss what happens when we deviate from social norms. When we break from the expectations of those around us and do something that is socially unacceptable, what kind of consequences can we anticipate running into?”

No one had asked or answered a question in some time. And now, as Mr. Winchester stands waiting, everyone remains silent. With one hand on his hip and one hand on the whistle around his neck, the coach’s voice grows stern. “Are you all asleep today? Do I need to get you up and do some cardio?”

“We’re not sleepin’ coach,” groans someone in the back. “We’re passing out from the stench.”

“On your feet,” Coach barks, popping the whistle in his mouth and giving it a short blast. Some jump up, startled, while others rise begrudgingly and make a show of it. Regardless, when Jack looks around, everyone is up.

“Hands up to answer a question,” Winchester barks, “and when you’ve answered one, you can sit back down.”

As he works his way up and down the rows like a drill sergeant, the Coach fires off questions and his students answer them in exchange for being allowed to sit back down. When he looks over at her, Jack finds Claire leaning on her desk and smirking at the coach. She likes him, though she’d be loathe to ever admit it, and this kind of stuff is exactly why.

“Now,” says the Coach in a commanding voice, “who can give me one of the consequences of deviating from societal norms?”

Choosing one of the many raised hands, Mr. Winchester calls on Krissy. “Death,” she answers, flopping back to her seat.

“And which societal norm would be lethal?” he counters, heading her way.

“Um, the not killing one,” she responds snarkily, “last I heard, murder carries the death penalty.”

“Then you haven’t heard much,” barks the Coach, “in our state, the death penalty was voted down in ‘64.” With a short blast from his whistle, he brings her to attention and says, “Back on your feet, Miss Chambers.”

Claire’s expression turns downright gleeful as she watches the dark-haired girl reluctantly stand amidst snickering. Once again addressing the class, Mr. Winchester tries a second time. “Who can give me a consequence of not conforming to societal expectations?”

When he gestures to Claire, she says, “Isolation.” Unlike Krissy, she waits for him to nod permission before she sits down.

“That’s a good one, Claire. We see it all the time, especially here in school. Someone comes in looking different, dressing different, or acting a little different and what happens? They’re completely cut off.”

Heading back to the front of the room he addresses them all and says, “Okay, I think you guys are awake now. Everyone can go ahead and take a seat.” Looking out over the room, Mr. Winchester then surprises them all by saying, “Let’s try something. Everyone close your eyes.”

Jack looks around and sees a few other students exchange questioning looks, but a few start closing their eyes. Jack does too. He can see nothing, but he hears snickering from the back.

“Close ‘em Ricky,” snaps the Coach, “you too, Davis. I want everyone’s eyes shut for this.”

The room grows silent as everyone sits with their eyes closed and waits for what will happen next. In his own time, Mr. Winchester speaks. “If anyone opens their eyes, they’ll be in detention with me for a week, and if you think it’ll be cushy, think again. Now, that having been said, I want you all to keep your eyes shut and think carefully. See if you can remember a time when you felt isolated at school… a time when you felt alone and left out. Maybe you have lots of friends but they were mad at you for something. Maybe you never had any friends and it’s always like this. But, if you’ve ever felt completely isolated, I want you to keep your eyes closed and just quietly raise your hand.”

For the next few moments, Jack debates about whether or not to put his hand in the air. Had he ever felt isolated and alone? Sure. But is he willing to chance admitting that in front of a room full of students and teammates? Seconds tick by on the wall clock which, in the silence of the room right now, is loud and clear. No one is giggling or whispering. Everything is still. Assuming that this is an indication that no one is peaking, Jack goes ahead and raises his hand.

“Okay,” says the coach firmly, “Everyone open your eyes.”

Jack jerks his hand down as his eyes shoot open, but it doesn’t matter. He’s seen the same thing that everyone else has… a glimpse of blurry movement from all around, which indicates most everyone in the room having had their hands in the air. A thrum of self conscious whispering and giggling sweeps over the room and the Coach’s voice cuts right through it.

“In case you guys weren’t quick enough to see it, let me just tell ya… every single hand in this room was up.”

A soft whispering lingers over the room as people smile hesitantly at those around them and exchange a few words with friends. Once again pacing, Coach addresses the class. “If everyone knows how it feels to be isolated, then why do we continue to isolate others?”

Across the room, a single hand goes up. It’s a young freshmen whose name Jack doesn’t even know. When she’s called on, she softly says, “to encourage social norms.”

“Very good young lady,” he praises. It’s almost comical to watch her melt like butter under his affirming gaze. The Coach is sexy. No one would dare deny it.

“Can anyone give me an example of when this might be a good thing?”

Once  more, the Coach calls on the same student. The only one raising her hand. “Because,” she says meekly, “social norms are there for a reason. It’s how society functions.” With growing confidence, she continues by saying, “For example, take pedophelllia. That’s a deviation from the normal and it’s punished with isolation. The person convicted has to stay away from children and be put on a registry so that everyone will know to keep their kids away. That leaves the offender feeling isolated and alone. Others with the same inclinations will fear the same treatment and, hopefully, not engage. That’s why things are the way they are.”

“Very insightful answer,” he praises, looking out at the rest of the class. “Now, can someone else give me an example of when this can be a _bad_ thing? Not here in school, that’s too easy. Give me an example from the adult world.”

Across the room, Krissy raises her hand again. When Mr. Winchester calls on her, she gives a real answer this time. “Divorce.”

“How so?” he prompts her.

“When my folks split up, my mom said everyone treated her different. She said life is hard for single people, and I think she’s right. I’ve got an aunt that never got married at all and people are always talking about it… like it’s some huge deal. It’s almost like society thinks it’s our job to get married and stay that way, or else.”

“You make a good point,” he tells her. Then, he sinks into his chair and sighs before speaking again. “You know,” he says to the room, “When Ms. Braeden and I called off our wedding, we each got a small taste of that. I mean, you would have thought we each cut off our arms for the way people looked at us. Most people told me not to worry, and it’s funny how damned worried they all looked as they told me not to worry. It was as if not getting married was a fate worse than death.”

Jack watches Mr. Winchester as he tells his story to the room, the eyes of his students locked on him the entire time. Rarely does a teacher actually have a genuine discussion with their class, and even more rare is a moment like this where a teacher actually opens up about their personal life to share something honest and true. Everyone is completely spellbound.

Wrinkling up his face as he does it, the coach takes on the voice of a little old lady and says, “Don’t worry, Dean, the right one is out there for you.”

A rumble of amused chuckles spreads over the room as he continues, “Don’t worry, Dean, you’re still young. You’ll find someone.” The coach ends his examples with an arched eyebrow and a booming male voice saying, “I sure thought she was the one, son, but if ya gotta keep lookin’, I guess you gotta keep lookin’.”

As the laughter dies down again, he looks out at them and says, “Guys, not conforming can be a challenge. Sometimes it can seem easier to just go along with what’s considered normal, even when that path doesn’t really appeal to you. And that, right there, is why the enforcement of social norms is so powerful.”

In this moment, Jack can see an aching pain on his teacher’s face as plainly as he can see the man’s nose. Mr. Winchester stands up from his desk then, moving front and center and asking for other examples of societal norms and the consequences of following or breaking them.

The discussion moves on, but Jack isn’t moving on with it. His mind is at a stand-still and working to put together puzzle pieces… a broken engagement, talk of social norms, and a discussion of the consequences involved in breaking from those norms. Jack’s starting to suspect that his off-handed to comment to Claire few days ago may have been far more accurate than he’d ever imagined. Maybe, just maybe, the Coach had broken his engagement with Ms. Braeden simply because he didn’t want to marry a woman. The very notion fills Jack with hope that the Coach might be interested in dating his father.

Suddenly, a burst of laughter from those around him brings Jack snapping back to the class discussion. .

“And yeah,” Coach is saying, “I honestly thought that maybe I should just get a dog.”

More laughter. Clearly Jack has missed too much - he has no idea what is so funny. But now, hearing Mr. Winchester joke about considering a pet, the inkling of a plan is starting to form. Brooding for the rest of class, and even after, Jack feels progressively more certain that he is on the right track.

Continually reminding himself that he could be mistaken does nothing to dampen his spirits. Sure, it’s possible that the Winchester/Braeden wedding had been cancelled for some other unknowable reason… like, maybe the Coach simply didn’t want to get married at all. But even in the face of such logic, Jack finds himself feeling positive that he is on the right track.

At the end of the day, when returning to his locker, he sees Claire and Kaia in the hall with a small group of friends. He doesn’t stop to talk to them. Instead, he walks around them and exits the building. Under a warm sun, he crosses the main parking lot and angles over towards the football field.

As expected, Mr. Winchester is there. Without breaking stride, Jack moves out onto the field and over to where the coaches are working to position a blocking sled for football practice.

When he approaches, they look up at him and he’s greeted by Mr. Winchester. “Hey Jack, what’s up?”

“Um, I was just heading home. But, since you mentioned considering a pet today, I thought I’d take a sec to let you know that there’s going to be an adoption event here in town on Saturday.”

“You don’t say,” the coach replies with a smile. Glancing back at the other coaches, Winchester dismisses them with a nod and turns his full attention to Jack.

“Yeah, it’s at The Mill. There’s a farmers market there on Saturdays and the Humane Society is setting up a booth, just this once, and we’re doing half price adoptions. So, if you wanted to, you could stop by and say hello… maybe check out the animals and see if there’s any you like?”

“You work there?” he asks, seeming curious.

“Nope. My dad volunteers and he got me into it. He’ll be there too. I mean, at the adoption event.”

“Well, if I can haul my a-” leaving the sentence hanging for a second, Mr. Winchester lets out a bark of laughter before starting over. “If I can haul myself out of bed in the morning, I’ll make sure to stop by and check it out.”

Nodding, Jack turns to go but finds himself tugged back by the shoulder. “How come you’re not on the field with us this year? Tired of bus trips with the cheerleaders and having the entire school clap for ya when you take the field?”

“I’m too small,” he answers honestly, “and the amount of work I was putting into it just wasn’t worth the few minutes of playing time I got.”

Mr. Winchester seems to know a lost cause when he hears it. He doesn’t answer right away. But, more interested than ever in keeping the man’s good favor, Jack adds, “I’m pretty sure I’ll still be with you for basketball, though.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to take what I can get,” the coach replies, giving an affectionate slap on the back. “This is your senior year, Jack. You’ll be lookin’ back on it for the rest of your life. So, I hope you’re living it in a way you’ll be proud of later.”

“I think I am,” Jack responds, feeling less confident of that as he stands under scrutiny.

Gesturing for him to exit the field, Coach says, “You best get goin’ buddy.”

“You bet, Coach,” he replies, willing his feet to start moving. “And hopefully I’ll see you Saturday at The Mill.”

“See ya, Jack,” calls the Coach, already trotting away.

Elated that he’s set the wheels in motion, it’s hard to keep from skipping as he heads for the sidelines and over to the bleachers. Dropping there for a moment, he sends a quick snap to Claire checking to see if she’s ready to head out. When she snaps back, he gets up and walks back towards the parking lot so he can meet up with her.

As they come together, she grins at him. “Dude. When you snapped me from the bleachers, I thought you wanted to smoke out under them.”

“That sounds like something to do _after_ graduation,” he laughs, “not before.”

“Yeah, timing is everything, I guess.”

“Speaking of timing, what are you doing on Saturday?”

“I’m going shopping with Kaia, why?”

Feeling his good mood plummet, Jack looks over at his friend and hopefully asks, “Here in town?”

“Nope, she’s takin’ me to the city.”

“She has a car, I take it?”

“Yeah.”

Slowing his pace, he looks over at her. She’s practically swimming in her oversized flannel. Beneath it is a black tank top boasting one of her favorite bands. Her hair is blowing gently in the soft breeze and when she reaches up to flick the long, spiraling locks out of her face, her fingers barely extend beyond the the length of her sleeves. He can see why Kaia wants her. Why any fool would want her.

“If she has a car, why didn’t she offer you a ride home?” he asks her. Honestly, he doesn’t like his own tone, it’s challenging and he fears that he’s letting his jealousy and anger show.

“Who says she didn’t,” Claire growls, turning to face forward and picking up the pace. “Just ‘cause someone offers me a ride home, doesn’t mean I just ditch my bestie, right?”

Relieved beyond measure, Jack leans into her as they walk. Their shoulders bump and his weight displaces her a bit. Recovering her stride in the next step, she bumps him back.

“This is gonna change things,” he says, because it’s not their style to beat around the bush.

“It’s too soon to tell,” she replies, but even as she says it, she knows it’s not. He can read the truth in the shape of her mouth and the set of her eyes. She’s just placating him. He loves her for it, and he doesn’t.

They walk in silence for blocks, Jack trying to enjoy his time with her. He takes in the color of the trees that tower over them, paying special attention to the way sunlight filters through them, shafts of it flickering and dancing as the leafy branches sway. The golden beams seem attracted to Claire’s beautiful hair, bursting with warmth on contact and leaving behind a glow that seems to reach her skin. Her blue, crystalline eyes are contemplative as the two of them walk, and there’s a few times where he’d swear that she’s reaching for his hand, only to pull back at the last minute and mindlessly push her floppy sleeves up.

Cars whirr past on the street and as they come closer to the center of town, the decorative flags hanging from wrought iron street lamps audibly flap in the breeze. Occasionally someone else brushes past them on the sidewalk and overhead the sky is blue and dotted with fluffy white clouds. Taking in these details, he tries to commit them to memory. Especially the feeling he gets every time he feels her reaching for him.

Taking their usual route, they opt for walking down the alley behind the Main Street shops rather than on Main Street itself. It’s less scenic this way, but it takes them where they want to go… down to the river’s edge, rather than onto the bridge that crosses it. Ambling down a familiar path, they are soon swallowed up in the shadow of it. They can hear cars passing overhead, but that noise doesn’t obscure the more pleasant sounds of water. Perching in their usual spot, the thunder of the nearby waterfall is audible but muted while the softer, but the much closer sound of undulating rapids is more noticeable. The rushing water, having picked up speed over the falls, continually impacts heavily at the bridge’s wide concrete base, only to swirl around it and continue down river. With the base just a dozen feet away, he’s got a good view to the water as it steadily churns and rolls. Unfortunately, with the water level being low, he can smell it too.  

The grating sound of a lighter sparking to life pulls his attention back to his friend, his beautiful friend. She’s got a joint between her pursed lips and her hand is cupped around it as she attempts to to keep a flame alive amidst the the damp, swirling air around them.

When he spark finally catches, she inhales deeply to get the joint burning. Then, she blows on it to disperse the ashen remains of it’s tip and leave behind a perfect, smouldering cherry. He smiles as he watches her hit it for real this time. She holds it for a moment, closing her eyes to savor, and then passes it to him as a coughing fit sets in. By the time he’s hit it and passed it back, she’s recovered.

“I talked to Coach today,” he says, suddenly feeling more talkative now that he’s had a puff.

“That why you were on the field?”

“Yeah. I told him about the adoption event that’s happening Saturday at The Mill. Did I even mention that to you?”

“I don’t think so,” she says, taking a deep breath and letting it out before taking another hit.

“The Humane Society,” he clarifies. “They’re setting up at the farmers’ market Saturday morning. Dad and I will be there helping.”

“And why would Mr. Winchester be interested in that?”

“He said something about it in class today, remember? He mentioned maybe getting a dog?”

“I remember him joking about it, I guess. But he said it, like, as if it were in the past. Like, back when he and Ms. Braeden broke up.”

“That wasn’t so long ago,” he challenges, taking his turn for a hit.

“Yeah, but he said that he thought he _was_ lonely or depressed or some shit. Not that he _is_ , but that he _was_. ‘Was’ being the key word.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll see. Either he shows up or he doesn’t.”

“Is this part of your match-making scheme?”

“Yeah.”

“Why an adoption event? I mean, how romantic can that be?”

Unable to hold back his smile, Jack proudly says, “My dad’s gonna be assigned to the critters, Claire. You know, the hamsters and guinea pigs and stuff.”

“Ew. I repeat… how is that romantic?”

“Clearly you’ve never seen my dad with a furry critter. It’s fucking adorable.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” she grins, snatching the joint back.

“They’d be a good match,” he says, confident in his assessment.

“Your dad doesn’t even watch sports on TV,” she says tersely. “How does that make him a good match for a man who loves sports so much that he’s coaching as a career?”

“You ever heard of yin and yang? Opposites attract?”

“I guess,” she concedes with a shrug. “But we don’t even know that he’s into dudes. It seems like kind of a longshot.”

“It probably is,” he agrees, letting the conversation drop. “And,” he tacks on the end, “don’t think I haven’t noticed you starting to like him.”

“Winchester?”

“Yeah. It’s been less than a week, so you owe me a fat joint.”

“I don’t hate him,” she admits with an eye roll, “that’s hardly enough to say that you’ve won a bet on me liking him by the end of the week.”

“C’mon,” he chides, “Who do you think you’re talking to? Besides, I saw the look on your face when he put Krissy in her place today. You loved it.”

“I did,” she admits with a reluctant smile. “Tell you what, you can keep that one and we’re settled.”

“That works,” he agrees, only to pass it back to her, “but since I always share with you anyway, you can hit it.”

She accepts with a softer smile and they sit quietly for a while, passing the smoke between them. When he’s been lulled into a state of contentment, he finds himself ready to ask a question. Taking a deep breath, he looks at Claire and says, “What is it about her that you like so much?”

With a self-conscious smile, her eyes dart away from his as she considers her answer. Time seems to slow down as he waits for her and he shivers as he becomes aware of how cool it is here in the shade of the bridge. When she finally turns back to meet his eye, she can’t help but smile as she answers. “It’s the way she looks at me.”

Nodding as though he gets it when he really doesn’t, he stretches and stands up. She tosses the tiny roach down at his feet and he grinds it down with his foot to be sure its out. Then, he offers his hand to her. She takes it with a soft smile and hops down from the cement wall they’ve sitting on. Together they walk out of shadow and into the light.  


                                                                                                                                                                                    

  
It’s finally Friday. Castiel leaves the office a bit early and stops at the store on his way home. With his mind set on satisfying a craving, he selects a couple of t-bone steaks at the meat counter, and then continues filling his cart with the items on his list. Once he’s home and the groceries are put away, he begins to relax into the weekend. With a beer in hand, he starts up the smoker on the patio and tucks the steaks inside. Then he changes his clothes and heads out to mow the lawn. It’s a job he’s always enjoyed, and never grows tired of doing. The scent of freshly mown grass envelops him as he criss-crosses the front yard, easily creating the flawless pattern of dark and light green that is often showcased on the brochures of realtors and landscaping companies. Then, with the front of the house perfectly manicured, Cas takes a break. He grabs another cold beer and carries it with him to the back yard where he relaxes for a bit. Notably absent are the intense heat and oppressive humidity of mid-summer, and the result is a cheerful kind of sunshine that beckons people outside. The gentle breeze wafts past the smoker and carries it’s rich scent right to Cas as he lingers on the patio and sips his drink. It’s making him hungry. So, when he reaches the bottom of the bottle, he gets up and throws it in the recycling bin so he can back to work. The sooner he finishes with the yard, the sooner he can fire up the grill.

By the time Jack arrives home, Cas is on his fourth beer. The potatoes are wrapped in foil and baking in the oven, the steaks are slow cooking over a low flame, and Castiel is nearly finished chopping vegetables into a salad bowl.

“Hello Jack,” he greets, looking up from his work, “how was your day?”

“Good, I guess,” his son replies, seating himself at the breakfast bar. “How was yours?”

“Mine was good as well. I got the lawn mowed and there are steaks on the grill.”

“Oh, steak sounds so good. Are there potatoes?”

“In the oven,” Castiel nods, sliding the last of the cut cucumbers into the bowl. Dropping the cutting board into the sink, he begins rinsing it as he turns back to his son and asks, “Do you have plans for the evening?”

“Yeah, there’s a party at Ricky’s. We’re heading over there later.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Me and Claire, Chris is picking us up.”

“Claire and I,” Cas corrects, “and is it safe to assume that this party will be adequately chaperoned by responsible adults?”

“I don’t think so,” chuckles Jack, “but I promise you, just like always, that I will never get in a car with someone who’s been drinking. If I need a safe ride home, I will call you.”

“That seems fair enough, if you can be counted on to keep your word.”

“I always have,” Jack reminds his dad.

“And remember, kids die from alcohol poisoning. It can happen. You should always be able to count the number of drinks you’ve had with the fingers of one hand.”

Stifling a laugh, Jack bites his lip and says, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Would you like to eat outside?” offers Castiel.

“That sounds good,” Jack nods, getting up from his seat to assist in setting the table.

They work together to put the finishing touches on their meal and get everything set up outside. Then, the two seat themselves and begin to eat. The juicy steaks, smoked and grilled to perfection, are the highlight of their meal. The sun begins to sink low in the sky as they enjoy the indulgent meal and from around the patio, the soft hum of insects begins to swell with the onset of dusk.

When Jack excuses himself to go get ready for the party, Castiel reminds him that they have to be up early in the morning. Then he sinks into his chair and relaxes as the amber light of dusk begins to deepen into the reds and purples that will soon become a beautiful sunset. Sadly, with the hour growing later, mosquitos have now started to come out. Swatting at them and scratching at the bites they inflict quickly saps the peacefulness from his evening. Preparing to head inside for the night, Cas stands and begins gathering the dirty dishes. By the time he’s cleared the table and cleaned the grill, Jack has come down from upstairs. He’s dressed and ready to go, perched on a barstool and absorbed in his phone as he waits to be picked up. Castiel turns off the patio lights and begins loading the dishwasher. Just as he’s finishing up, Jack hops down from his stool and turns to leave, bidding his father a quick goodbye as he exits.

“Be safe,” Cas calls out to the boy, “and take care of Claire.”

“I will, Dad,” his son calls back to him from the front room. A moment later, he hears the door and knows he’s alone in the house.

Leaning back against the counter, he wonders what to do with the remainder of the evening. He’s had a full day, and he’s a bit tired. A night in front of the television sounds decent, and the idea grows more appealing when he considers the addition of a good porno. He’s got hours and hours… he could take his time with the self-love if he wanted to. Rather than just quickly and quietly rubbing one out, he could indulgently watch dirty a dirty movie as he fingers himself open slowly and works in a fat dildo. Once he’s stuffed, he can lube up and break in his new fleshlight. The idea of a night sequestered in his room is tempting.

But, before he can fully sell himself on the idea, another one begins to form and it’s equally tempting. He could go for a little drive. Just a short one… get out the Continental and ride over to Mr. Winchester’s house.

Cas knows that since the Coach is young and single - he’s probably not at home on a Friday night anyway. That’s a strong argument against going over to his place. Clearly, staying home is the better choice. But if that’s the case, then why’s he in the garage? Why’s he looking at his old Lincoln and itching to get behind the wheel?

Never taking his eyes off of the car, Cas paces the length of the garage and back as he tries to convince himself that driving over to Mr. Winchesters is a waste of his time. But, it feels like his mind is made up already, because he finds himself inching closer to the car as he deliberates..

 _I’ll keep it short_ , he tells himself. _I’ll just ride by his place and see if he’s home. Most likely, he won’t be and I’ll just come back here and get off like I have all night. Because I do._

With that thought in mind, he climbs into the good car and backs it out of the garage. He’s had this sedan for almost a year and it looks as good now as it did the day he brought it home. He cleans and maintains it meticulously which seems appropriate given that he’d spent over forty thousand dollars on it. That makes this late model Lincoln the most expensive car he’s ever owned. .

Angling it over to sit on the left side of the driveway, he parks there and heads back into the garage. Next, he closes the garage door. In privacy, he pulls the tarp off of his old ‘78 and folds it onto a nearby work bench. Running  a hand along her front quarter panel as he moves, Cas heads to the back of the garage, locates the storage tub that holds his gear and pulls out what he needs. Tugging on his oversized trench coat, he adjusts it to sit squarely on his shoulders before digging his binoculars out as well. With the strap around his neck, he puts away the remaining items which are only there for show - a few old books on birdwatching and half a dozen ancient road maps from states he’d traveled to back in the days before Google and Garmin. It’s laughable really, but he’s always figured it was best to make this particular storage bin as explainable as possible; just in case someone he cares about, like Jack, ever stumbles upon it.

Checking to be sure he has his wallet and phone with him, Castiel glances around and runs down a mental checklist before finally climbing into his old car. Sinking into the crushed velvet seat, he adjusts himself and then turns the key. She starts up easily and runs smoothly, just as she always has. Cautious of her as he does it, Cas turns the wheel sharply and cranks her tail around. Easing her out onto the driveway, he hits the button to bring down the garage door and pulls out onto the street. Glancing around, he doesn’t see anyone out and about.

With a deep sigh to relax his body, Cas turns his attention to the road ahead. Less than five minutes later, his heart is accelerating as he turns onto Willow Drive. Fighting the urge to slow, Cas drives past the place first, checking the area for anything problematic as he does. Looking at the Winchester house on his way by, he sees no lights on. Yep. Not home. He should just keep driving… head back to the house like he’d promised himself he would.

Following the curve around, Cas makes a left at the corner and takes four consecutive right turns, essentially going around a neighboring block so that he can turn back onto Willow. Approaching the house he intends to watch, Cas slows again. Even as he’s searching for a place to park, his mind is pleading with him to just go home like he’d planned. But really, he’s already here. He may as well stay for a few minutes.

Easing to the curb a few houses down the street, Castiel extinguishes his lights and takes another look around. The area is dark and quiet. There’s no street light over his car here and that, combined with the lay of the land, makes his spot ideal.

For the next hour, Castiel sits in his car berating himself for his proclivities, his obsession with Mr. Winchester, and the absurdity of his actions. He alternates looking through his binoculars at the darkened house, and dropping his back onto the headrest in frustration. When the dash clock is reading ten thirty, Cas finally decides he’s had enough. He sits forward in the seat, reaching for the ignition, and it’s that precise moment when his rear view mirror suddenly fills with bright white light.

The rumble of a vintage muscle car swells from behind him and fills his heart with hope as he turns his eyes to the side mirror and watches two approaching headlights. Ducking down in his parked car, Cas feels a whoosh when the vehicle passes his. An audible wake of classic rock is left behind with the red glow of tail lights.  

If there was any doubt about who is in that car, it’s dispelled now as Castiel pokes his head up over the dash. Brake lights come on as the sleek black car approaches Coach Winchester’s driveway up ahead. As it turns, the cars headlights swing wide to briefly illuminate the front of the house before landing on the garage. The engine revs as the vehicle idles, waiting for the garage door to rise. Then it creeps slowly inside, the door coming down behind it.

Even from fifty yards away and through a closed garage door, Castiel can hear the hungry growl of that engine. When it finally cuts off, the neighborhood almost seems too quiet. Too still. Fumbling to get his binoculars back into position, Castiel adjusts them. He eagerly scans the few yards that separate the house and garage hoping to catch a glimpse of the man he covets. Simultaneously he hears the heavy slam of a door and sees the silhouette of a man. It’s impossible to tell what he’s wearing, but his strides are long and confident. Disappearing around a corner, the man seems to have headed to a back door. The front door, framed by a deep porch, remains dark and unused. Near the back of the house, one single window lights up.

Between his legs, Castiel is plump with excitement and his breath is coming faster. The light doesn’t stay on for long, but shortly after it’s extinguished, two more come on in quick succession.  Those soon go dark as well, and the next light he sees is shining from a second floor window. Fuck yes. That’s the bedroom window.

Thrilled and hopeful, he adjusts the depth on the binoculars again, bringing the small square of light into focus. Yes. He’s in luck. The drapes are hanging open.

Castiel knows from experience that Mr. Winchester tends to be careless when it comes to windows. Minutes tick by as he waits, eager and hopeful. Then, finally, he’s rewarded for his patience with the sight of Mr. Winchester’s body,  framed on both sides by gently billowing drapes. The man has sauntered up to the window shirtless, with his belt undone and zipper down. He exudes sensuality with his jeans riding low on his hips and his fingertips trailing up and down between his chest and naval.

Clenching binoculars in his sweaty grip, Castiel zooms in as tightly as he can on the tantalizing image of fingertips. They skim lightly over skin and even wander over to brush at a dusky nipple just as an unseen hand drops the blinds closed.

Disappointment washes over Cas and he flops back in the seat, achingly hard and tense from head to toe. With binoculars now resting in one hand, he brings the other down to cup his groin and push down, a futile attempt to temper the lust that burns within him.

A lesser man would give in to temptation, unzip and pull himself out, jerk off while the heat is still simmering and the window is still within view. But not Castiel. It’s a rule of his own making, and he’s yet to break it. He always stays clothed in his car.

Glancing at the time, he groans aloud and drops the binoculars to the seat beside him. He doesn’t actually leave though, not until the excitement of the moment has completely faded.

When he gets back to the house, he parks his ancient beast of a car in it’s usual spot before carefully pulling the cover over her. He also puts his things back into their hiding place and double checks everything before finally opening the garage door and pulling his pride and joy into its usual spot.

Then, once more feeling like an upstanding citizen, Castiel walks into the house. He doesn’t have much time before curfew so he makes a bee line for his bedroom with the intention of getting off before his son gets home. Locking the door to his room, he puts on some music and wastes no time digging into the locked, fireproof safe under his bed. To anyone else, this portable safe probably appears to contain important papers like a copy of his mortgage, his life insurance policy, and other such things. But no. Inside are his sex toys, lube, and a box of condoms that’s likely past it’s expiration. Purchased at a weak moment when he’d been considering a hookup, they’d been rotting here since. Pushing past them, he selects the smallest vibrator because there’s no time for prep. But, there’s also no way he’s going to let this night end without feeling something hard between his cheeks.

Climbing onto his bed, he shucks out of his pants eagerly and tosses his shirt aside. Leaving his briefs stretched around his thighs for effect, Castiel rolls over and lubes up his ass, fingers digging in eagerly even as he wills his body to relax.

With the music set a bit too loud, he allows a soft moan to escape when he pushes the silicone vibrator up inside. It’s small; hardly thrilling. But the moment he turns it on, he can feel it quivering deep inside him. Around his rim, tingles break out and tease a shudder from him.

Rolling onto his back, Cas pushes upward to land his head on a pillow. Perched like this, the vibrator can’t work it’s way back out.

Dribbling cold lube on his cock sets him back a little, but he warms quickly once his hand is wrapped around the shaft. Starting with a heavy hand, he strokes himself firmly and drops his head to the pillow to enjoy the dual sensation of ass play and hand job.

Rolling his hips as he jacks himself off, a humming sensation builds quickly in the pit of his stomach. Scrunching his eyes shut, Cas attempts to project the delectable image of Dean Winchester onto the back of his eyelids. The incredible feeling of sensuality that he’d experienced while watching the man evades him now, but the thrill of what he’s surreptitiously seen tonight is still with him and it propels him towards a climax.

Pumping his hand relentlessly, the soreness setting into his bicep is easy to ignore because he just wants to get there. He’s rocking rhythmically on the buzzing toy now and the way it tugs at his rim with each repetition is sending pulses of pleasure up into his groin.

The longer he keeps his eyes shut and his imagination active, the easier it is to be back there… to see the scene exactly the way he’d seen it in real life. He can see the man’s bare chest and the fingers that tickle over it absentmindedly. He can see the low-slung jeans and the outline of a generous bulge from beneath them. He’s jacking himself furiously now and grunting with the effort, but he’s close. In his mind, he imagines Mr. Winchester putting his thumbs into the waistline of those unzipped jeans and pushing them down. That’s the moment when he feels a drop in his stomach and the accompanying surge of endorphins that always washes over him right before a climax. Succumbing to it eagerly, his body tenses and bows on the bed as the pleasure that’s been slowly building in his groin suddenly swells to overwhelm him. When he finally comes, he comes hard.

When the initial rush has passed over, he slumps down into the bed. Still panting heavily, he lays there with his eyes shut to enjoy the feeling as it begins to fade away. Too soon, he’s left with only the jittery after-effects of an endorphin rush and a dull ache between his cheeks where the vibrator is still buzzing away.

Groaning, he turns on his side to reach back and shut off the toy. Grimacing at the feel of it, he eases it out and keeps the thing from touching his bedding as he struggles to get on his feet. Once he’s up, Cas heads straight to the bathroom to clean it. With that done, he hastily shoves everything back in the safe, locks it up, and pushes it back under the bed.

Relieved to have come but irritated that he’d had to rush, Cas cleans himself up and pulls on a pair of pajama pants. He’s weak and tired now, ready to curl up and sleep. But he doesn’t get back in bed. Knowing that his son will soon be home, he glances around the room to make sure everything appears normal. Then he then pulls on his robe before heading downstairs.

It’s less than fifteen minutes until curfew and as he descends the stairs, he’s taking a mental inventory of what’s in the kitchen so that he can have a midnight snack ready when his son comes through the door.

The sound of laughter is like ice in his veins and as he turns the corner at the bottom of the steps he’s rattled to find Jack and Claire in the kitchen. They’re giggling and looking at something on her phone, so clearly they’re unaware that he’s got anything to be ashamed of. But still, he’s disturbed to imagine that they had come into the house at some point while he was masturbating. Ew. Thankfully he’d had music on and had been relatively quiet. There’s no way they’d have heard anything, even if they’d been upstairs at some point.

He enters the kitchen with a simple, “Hello Claire, Jack.”

“Hey Mr. Kline,” Claire cheerfully responds. Her own greeting drowns out Jack as he mutters, “Hey, Dad.” They pay him no further attention as he pulls down a mug and his favorite tea. Using the microwave to boil the water, he drops the tea bag into it and then turns his attention to the kids. “Would you guys like a snack?” he offers.

“Got one,” says Jack absently, not even looking. Belatedly Cas notices that they’re both sitting over bowls of Cap’n Crunch cereal.

“Wait,” says Claire, her eyes wide, “we should totally make some mac-n-cheese.”

Stifling a laugh, Castiel notes the redness of her eyes and slurred speech. Obviously they’re both high and clearly they’ve been drinking too. He bites his tongue as he turns to an adjacent cabinet and pulls down a box of Velveeta Shells and Cheese.

“How was the party?” he asks, fishing for information as he fills a pan with water from the tap.

“It was good,” answers Jack, looking up for a second. “But someone let off a stink bomb and that pretty much killed it.

Laughter burst from his mouth before he could stop it. “Who - no, wait. What? A stink bomb? Really?”

“Really,” the kids say in unison. Then Claire looks up and offers to show him the video of it happening, which is apparently what they’ve been watching. As the water comes to a boil on the stove, Castiel is leaning over the counter to watch several videos of the incident, each posted by a different student and each revealing the chain of events from a different angle. “Where did he even get a stink bomb?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“Dunno,” chuckles Jack. “Didn’t have time to ask as we were running for the door.”

Returning his attention to the stovetop, Cas dumps noodles into the bubbling water and stirs them up. Sipping his tea and watching his son as he waits for pasta, he starts to wonder about his son and Claire. Jack seems so focused on her, so attentive. He’s hanging on her every word and smiling warmly at her with heavily lidded eyes. Perhaps it’s just because the young man’s been drinking, but to Castiel it seems possible that more might be going on.  

Wondering if the two might be progressing beyond friendship, Cas thinks back to Jack’s coming out moment. It had seemed a bit tentative to him at the time, passive almost. Reflecting on that as he drains the macaroni, adds butter and milk, and dishes up a steaming plateful for each of them. Claire inhales deeply before digging in. Not even two minutes later, the doorbell rings.

“Figures,” she groans with an eyeroll. Then, looking across the breakfast bar at him, she tells Castiel, “That’s Jody. She said she’d pick me up here after her shift.”

Nodding his understanding, he follows after the girl when she hops down from her stool and heads to open the open the door.

Sheriff Mills is still her uniform when she enters and she looks at her adopted daughter with probing eyes. Seemingly unaware of the scrutiny she’s under, the teen ducks back to the kitchen, leaving Castiel and the Sheriff alone in the entryway.  

Jody’s still got a weapon holster on her belt and that’s where her hand rests as she says, “So, Mr. Kline, how long have they been here?”

“Not long,” he replies vaguely. “I just gave them something to eat.”

“It looks like Claire is high.”

“They both seem a little drunk as well.”

“I’m assuming they arrived in that condition from the party?”

“Well, they didn’t get it from me,” he jokes lamely.

“Who brought them here?”

“I’m not sure,” he admits, toying with the ties on his robe, “I was about to inquire, but they sidetracked me with a stink bomb video.”

“I heard about that,” she nods, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

“Word travels fast.”

“Well, the neighbors aren’t unaffected. We got a call down at the station. I sent a deputy out there to check the scene and take a statement.”

“Never a dull moment, right?”

“Not even in a small town.”

“Would you like to come in? Have a cup of coffee?”

“Sure.”

Following him into the kitchen, she leans on the counter while Jack starts playing her stink bomb videos. Claire is focused on eating. Turning his back on them, Castiel pops a basic dark into the Keurig and slides a cup onto the platform. Handing her the steaming mug, he then leans back on the counter to resume sipping his tea.

When Jody looks up at him between videos, she smiles widely and says, “I feel sorry for the Andersons… coming home to that mess.”

“Maybe Ricky and his friends will have it all cleaned up by the time they arrive,” he responds, but he knows better.

“That’s a pretty big maybe,” Jody chuckles, pushing away from the counter and coming to stand next to Castiel. Behind her, Claire and Jack are both finishing the last of their mac and cheese, still engrossed in their phones.

“They have my sympathy too,” Cas adds with a nod, “especially considering that the neighbors wound up calling in a complaint. They’re coming home to more than just a mess.”

“They’re back tomorrow afternoon,” says Jody, watching the kids as she speaks to him, “so I figured I’d stop by and check in on them then.”

“Did you tip them off that there was a party happening at their house tonight?”

“Sadly, no. I had no idea whose house this party was at. Claire’s getting way too good at sidestepping me, I’m afraid.”

“There’s only so much we can do,” he reminds her. “Kids do what they do. The better we get at interfering, the more adept they become at lying and manipulation. We may as well step back and let them have their fun, I guess. Try to keep them safe.”

“I won’t argue that,” she nods.

When Jody and Claire head out for the night, Castiel’s attention returns to Jack. In the silence that follows their departure, he looks at his son and softly asks, “Are you in love with her?”

“Who, Jody?” laughs Jack. If he’s trying to cover, it’s a solid effort.

Laughing wholeheartedly, Cas takes a deep calming breath and tries again.

“You and Claire have been best friends for a very long time.”

“Yep.” Jack’s not looking at him as he gathers dishes from the bar and carries them awkwardly to the sink.

“Sometimes it can sneak up you, Jack.”

“I’m gay Dad, remember?”

“Okay,” he relents, “I was just wondering. Claire is special to you, anyone can see that.”

“Dad,” says Jack, flopping back down on a stool, “I don’t know, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I just - I thought I was clear. I thought I understood. When I first started crushing on Devin, I thought, ‘Oh, I’m gay.’ I told you about it and you helped me come out and that was that. But lately, I’m not so sure anymore. I haven’t had feelings like that for anybody since Dev and I’m starting to wonder if I ever will again.”

“I see.”

“Do you think I’m still gay?”

“Do you?”

“If I knew for sure, I wouldn’t need to ask you.”

“If I could give you an answer, I would.”

Poor Jack. He looks so utterly lost as he folds his arms on the bar and lays his head down on them. Stepping closer, Cas reaches out and places a hand on his boy’s head. “Do you think you might have feelings for Claire?”

Under Cas’s hand, Jack gives a shrug. Neither speaks for a long time. But, eventually, Jack lets out a sigh and whispers, “Maybe.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Jack. Gay was just a label you gave yourself years ago. If it no longer suits you, then you can change it, okay?”

“Okay.”

Despite seemingly having discussed his problem and arrived at a conclusion, Jack’s posture doesn’t change. He is still tense, still morose. He hasn’t moved at all.

“Is there something else that’s bothering you, son?”

“Not really. I’m just thinking, I guess.”

“About what?”

“Well, I guess I’m starting to wonder if there’s something wrong with me. All my friends are obsessed with sex. It’s all they talk about. The guys never shut up about wanting to ‘get some’ and the girls are just as bad, they just think about it a little differently. And then there’s me. I don’t seem to care like they do. I don’t want to talk about it every waking minute of the day, and I don’t think about it all the time either, except maybe to wonder why I’m not thinking about it more.”

“Jack, human sexuality is a complicated thing. For some, the preferences are easy to label, but for others, it can take half a lifetime to really come to an understanding. And even when we’ve figured out how to label ourselves, there’s nothing set in stone. People can be wrong. People can change. It’s a lot to process. You might want to give yourself some time, Jack. Just take things as they come and discover yourself in your own time. What’s the point in rushing to label yourself, right?”

“I suppose,” Jack agrees, picking his head up long enough to let his sad eyes be seen. Cas stands helplessly in his kitchen and watches his son get up to leave. He desperately wants to say more, give the boy some encouragement and reassure him, but he is at a loss for words. He needs to say something meaningful but his mind is completely devoid of anything viable.

Turning back tentatively, Jack looks at him again. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

“If I was in love with Claire, how would I know?”

“That’s hard to say,” Cas hedges. What he wants to say is, ‘If you were in love, you’d know it’. But that would be cold and heartless. Though the words are generally accepted wisdom among adults, they are a lie. The truth is, lots of people don’t really know they love someone until they lose them. It’s a sad reality. Deciding to avoid answering further, Castiel slides onto the open stool between them and asks a question. “How do you feel about her?”

Relaxing minutely, Jack appears to give the matter some thought. “I care about her,” he ventures. “I mean, I want her to be happy. If there’s something I can do that will make her happy, I want to do it.”

Cas nods along, hoping his son will volunteer more information.

“She’s beautiful,” adds Jack, his eyes staring down into his lap.

“Yes, she is.”

“I hate the idea of anyone hurting her, and I’ll do anything to protect her. I look forward to seeing her. I think about her alot. Sometimes I feel like I want to hug her or hold her hand. I like the connection we have and I don’t want to lose it.”

“That all sounds wonderful, Jack.” It bothers Castiel a little to hear the wistful tone in his son’s voice as he speaks. It’s been so long since he’s felt any of those things about anyone, besides his son, of course.

“She’s got a thing for the new girl, Kaia.”

Jack looks absolutely miserable. Cas has been out of the game for a while, sure, but he knows that look. “You hate it, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know why?”

“No, I don’t. I understand that it’s jealousy, but I’m not sure what I’m jealous of. I mean, I want her to be happy, and with Kaia, she is. So what’s my problem, right?”

“Maybe you resent that there’s things that Claire used to do with you, and now she’s starting to do those things with someone else. Is that a possibility?”

“I suppose,” he agrees.

“Or maybe, you want to have someone who makes you feel the way Kaia makes Claire feel. Perhaps that’s what you’re jealous of… the kind of relationship that they have.”

“Yeah, that could be,” Jack says, appearing to give the idea further thought.

“Or, there’s the chance that you want her for yourself. It might be that you see her differently now compared to a few years ago, that you want more from her and just hadn’t fully realized it until you saw her with someone else. Is that possible? Do you think you might be wishing she were your girlfriend?”

“I think,” Jack says, pausing to yawn, “that I should think about it some more. I’m tired and my head’s starting to hurt. I think I’m going to head upstairs.”

“Okay son,” Castiel nods, moving in closer in case a hug seems welcome. And it is. Jack leans into him and Cas doesn’t hesitate to wrap the boy in his arms and hold him tightly to his own chest.

“I love you dad,” his boy whispers into his robe.

“I love you too, Jack.”  


                                                                                                                                                                                      

  
  
It’s Saturday morning and Dean’s up early. Not normally one who needs a lot of sleep, this isn’t unusual. He makes a pot of coffee and drinks his first cup slowly, easing into the day. After that, he’s ready to really get moving.

Heading to the garage, he inhales the fresh morning air. Then, entering through the side door, he presses the button on the garage door opener. Bright sunshine immediately begins filling the space. One last swig of coffee and he abandons his mug on the workbench, leaning in to turn on some music before walking over to pop the hood of his car. As he does, he speaks to her, his own voice barely audible over Black Sabbath. With “War Pigs” blaring from a speaker in the corner, Dean slides an oil pan into place under the car and opens the release so that Baby’s used, dirty oil can drain into it. By the time he starts to get hungry, the oil has been changed and he’s checked the pressure in each tire. He even took the time to wipe the sidewalls down with ArmorAll. Having just been washed yesterday, she shines like a new penny.

Closing the garage door and turning off the music, he heads inside with a sense of satisfaction. After washing up in the kitchen sink, he fires up a burner and pulls his favorite skillet onto it. The microwave clock reads nine-thirty and as the pan heats up, Dean’s chopping onion and green pepper into it.

Grabbing a chunk of ham from the fridge he begins cutting it into cubes and adding that as well.  The skillet is good and ready now, sizzling and popping. Humming to himself as he works, he drizzles a bit of oil over everything and begins tossing it all together. Next he cracks half a dozen eggs into the pan, turning the mixture over and over with a spatula. Removing it from the heat while the eggs are still moist and fluffy, he piles some shredded cheddar on top before covering it with a lid and returning it to the cooling burner. By the time he’s made toast and cleared the counter, the cheese has melted quite nicely.

Settling at the table, he enjoys his meal while finishing up the morning paper. It’s not until he sees an advertisement for the local farmers’ market that he remembers Jack Kline encouraging him to stop by because the Humane Society would be there. Normally, Dean wouldn’t go to a farmers’ market unless his health-nut brother dragged him there. But considering that his only plans for the day are to mow the lawn, he decides to go check it out. If nothing else, it’s an excuse to take a drive.

Leaving his dishes in the sink, Dean changes into clean clothes and slides behind the wheel. It’s the perfect kind of day to take his baby out, so before heading down to the old mill where the market is held, he takes a leisurely cruise around town with his elbow out the open window.

Approaching The Mill, Dean’s surprised by how many people have congregated. The nearest parking spot available is two blocks away. Pocketing his keys, he looks back at his car while walking away from her. Then, turning his attention to his destination, he notes a feeling of festivity in the air. The scent of slow cooking barbeque wafts through the air, and the chatter of happy conversation surrounds him as he veers off the sidewalk and onto the curving brick road that winds around the actual mill.

Flanked on both sides with booths, the market on this historic road doesn’t really look like he’d expected. This isn’t just produce for sale. No. This looks like some strange hybrid of an outdoor food market and craft fair or church bazaar. There’s a mish-mash of vendors offering an unexpected variety of merchandise.

The first booth he passes is predictable enough, nothing more than a truck bed filled to capacity with sweetcorn. There’s a grey haired old man sitting on a lawn chair by the tailgate and taking money.  Six ears for a buck? Hell yeah. Stepping up, he hands the guy three singles. Tipping his hat to Dean, the man points him to the truck bed.

Dean steps up to the tailgate and can’t help but smile as two young children, likely the man's own grandchildren, carefully count ears and drop them into a brown paper bag.

When one of the youngsters leans over the tailgate to hand him his bag, Dean takes it only to be surprised by its weight. Smiling as he thanks the little girl, Dean steps away. Behind him another customer is already stepping up in his place.  

As he strolls down the quaint brick road, he passes by a couple of ladies with a table full of homemade jewelry for sale, an elderly couple displaying actual corn cob pipes, and a local farmer selling grass fed beef, already butchered and packaged into a refrigerated truck. The beef is tempting for sure, but he’s already carrying more than he cares to, so he keeps walking. He can always stop on the way out and grab some if he wants. Continuing on, Dean passes a catering truck and that’s where the incredible smell of barbeque seems to be coming from. The line is at least a dozen people deep. Next to the food truck, there’s some seating - plastic tables and chairs set up on the grassy roadside, covered by a large canopy. All the seats are taken. Passing by booth after booth, the next one to catch his attention is heavily laden with fresh strawberries. They’re only ten bucks for a huge box. He can actually smell them, even from ten feet away, and his mouth is watering.

Forcing himself to move on, Dean finds that the market actually spills over into the adjacent riverside park. He hadn’t even realized that the back of his neck had been growing warmer in the sunshine until he steps into the cool shadow of shade trees. The path between vendors is wider here in the park, but he doesn’t meander from booth to booth like others seem to be doing. Instead, he continues walking in a straight line down the middle as his eyes scan the wide variety of goods being offered on either side. There’s a small stand boasting several varieties of freshly harvested honey, an eye-catching display of handmade garden decorations, a series of folding tables arrayed with a sprawling selection of freshly baked desserts, and of course, plenty of booths offering freshly grown fruits and vegetables as well.

Eventually, he reaches the end. Here, at the far end from where he’s parked, there’s a large sign bearing the Humane Society Logo. Beneath it there are two large transportation vehicles parked side-by-side and, between them, a large shaded area has been loosely set up to showcase the animals that are available for adoption. There’s a banner advertising half-price fees and a small table set up to take donations and hand out pamphlets. Running along the edge of the rickety table is a sign urging passers by to consider taking one of these animals to their ‘furever home’.

Slowing, Dean moves out into the shaded area. It seems to be divided into a dog section and a cat section and he heads for the dogs first. There are plenty of volunteers on hand, but it's obviously a struggle for them to keep up as they greet people, discuss the animals, and answer questions about the adoption process, all while getting dogs in and out of their kennels to interact with the people who want to meet them. Dean doesn’t see Jack anywhere. Pausing to watch for a bit, Dean once more considers the idea of having a dog.

Sammy had always wanted one when they were growing up, but Dean had never really shared the desire to care for an animal. However, he has to admit that if his house is going to remain mostly empty for the foreseeable future, a friendly companion might be a nice addition.

Looking around, all he can see are happy wagging tails, floppy ears, and inquisitive eyes. Every dog he makes eye contact with seems to come alive at the prospect of having his attention for even a second. They’re eager to form a connection with him, and it’s harder than he would’ve expected to keep walking, rather than bend to one knee and accept the love that they seem so eager to give him.

It might be nice, he thinks, to have a four legged friend there to greet him when he comes home, cuddle up with him to watch television, and maybe bark when someone knocks at the door. The idea isn’t unappealing.  

But, as soon as he admits that to himself, his more practical side reminds that having a dog would also mean the obligations of feeding and walking it, cleaning up after it, and taking it to the vet. Plus, there would always be dog hair on his furniture and clothes. Not to mention that he’d be tied down to the animal as well. In truth, Dean doesn’t travel much. But he’s always wanted to - and likes to think that someday he will. But trips of any kind would be far more difficult to manage if he had to board his dog in a kennel every time he wanted to spend even a single night away from home. It’s these thoughts that send him pivoting around to exit the dog section immediately.

Walking past the smaller cages that contain cats he slows again, considering. Cat’s don’t need to be walked. Hell, cats don’t even have to go outside to do their business. Traveling wouldn’t be an issue either… if he wanted to leave town for a few days, he could just throw out some extra food and water before leaving or get a friend to stop by each day. With this in mind, he wonders if maybe a cat might be the way to go.

Sadly, as he moves slowly down the line of cages Dean finds himself let down. While some of the cats are friendly and eager to be petted, none seem especially excited to befriend him. They don’t radiate the kind of happy playfulness that the dogs had. In fact, regarding Dean they seem indifferent.

It’s looking like he’s not well suited to either dogs or cats. As he prepares leave, Dean scans the area one more time in the hopes of seeing his student. He’d at least like to make contact with the young man so that he’d know his coach had been here. Not seeing him, Dean turns to go. As he exits the area, a table catches his attention that he’d not noticed before. It’s loaded with cages of all different shapes and sizes. Swamped by young children, it’s hard to see if there’s even anything inside the cages.

Moving in for a closer look, Dean realizes that the cages contain furry little creatures in different shapes and sizes. There is a volunteer staffed at this table to assist and he’s surrounded by noisy kids. The man is older and distinguished. Handsome. Unlike most middle aged men, this one doesn’t show even a trace of balding. In fact, his hair is thick and luxurious, hardly even greying. Well, maybe there’s a hint of silver, but it’s an enviable head of hair. Even windblown and messy, it’s still appealing.  

As though the man can feel Dean watching him, he looks up. The eyes that meet his are striking. Their gaze connects and holds leaving Dean to feel like a deer caught in headlights. He’s usually more cautious when checking out men, but this time he’d been careless. He’d wrongly assumed the man was too busy to notice.

The man tilts his head in a curious way, possibly wondering if Dean needs assistance. Holding a tiny rodent, the guy isn’t even paying attention to the kids around him as they reach into his cupped hands and pet the little thing. Both Dean and the volunteer seem to be tuning out the incessant chatter of excited children in favor of staring and it suddenly occurs to Dean that this man might actually be checking him out too. A shiver skitters up his spine as he realizes how much he likes that possibility. Honestly, he asks himself, what else could a stare this intense mean? No one holds eye contact for this long unless and they’re looking at someone they _want_.

Just then, the man’s attention is snapped away by someone else approaching. Provided a brief moment to recover himself, Dean belatedly realizes that the sexy man’s face is a bit familiar to him. Wondering where he may have seen the guy before, he glances over at the newcomer and sees that it’s actually Jack. .

Glad to be able to say a quick hello before leaving, Dean smiles and steps toward the boy saying, “Hey Jack, I was starting to wonder if you were even here.”

“Hey Coach,” the young man grins widely. “Thanks for coming.”

“Well, I was out for a drive and figured I’d stop by. I took a look around, but I didn’t see ya.”

“I took a break for lunch,” he explains.

“Is that for me?” Dean jokes, indicating the plate of food that the kid is holding.

“Sorry Coach, it’s for my dad,” he replies, tipping his chin towards the older man. “You remember my dad, right?”

Dean gives an affirming nod because he knows that he _should_ remember Jack’s dad. The man has probably been to a few parent meetings over the years and he’s likely attended most of his son’s games as well. Perhaps the man has even waved to Dean from the sidelines or said hello in passing.

Irritation flares in him as he realizes that the man he’d been checking out - hell, the man who may have been checking him out too - is actually off limits. He’s a parent. Even as he’s thinking that, the man is reaching for him from across the table. With the little furball having been pushed into just one hand, his free one is now offering a handshake.  Shifting his bag of sweetcorn to the opposite hand, Dean steps forward and leans in to accept. The man’s hand is warm when their palms connect and he grips firmly. It’s a pleasing handshake.

“I’m Cas,” the man is saying, “Cas Kline. How’ve you been Coach Winchester?”

Already, Dean’s got an internal voice screaming at him to pull away because they’ve been shaking for longer than necessary. He doesn’t want to be anymore obvious than he’s already been. The staring was bad enough - there’s no need to add in an awkward handshake.

“I’m doin’ alright,” he answers, finally able to take the necessary step back, “Can’t complain. Football season is underway and we’re lookin’ forward to our first game.” Glancing back at Jack he adds, “We’re gonna put a hurt on those Broncos this year.”

“I hope so,” the kid says with a smile. “They killed us last year. It was embarrassing.”

“Hey, we played a good game,” he counters, “being down by two players didn’t help us any, but you boys gave it your best and that’s all anyone can expect. I was proud of the effort we put in. But, yeah, we’ll git ‘em this time around. You gonna be there to cheer us on?”

“You bet, Coach. Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Atta boy,” he says with a nod. Then, returning his attention to the sexy dad, Dean sees that he’s putting away the little puff of fur that he’d been holding. Dean watches for a moment, pretending to be at least mildly interested in the little thing, and winds up watching the man open another cage at the behest of a young girl. He pulls out a rodent that is easily five times the size of the one he was just holding. In fact, he has to use two hands to hold it. It’s got huge eyes and makes a strange kind of warbling squeak as it’s handled.

“What is that?” he blurts out, surprised to find himself curious.

“Oh,” replies Jack, answering for his father, “that's a guinea pig. They make excellent pets. Would you like to hold one?”

“I’ll pass,” he chuckles, eyes still locked on the animal but darting up to Cas’s face once or twice. _Cas. Cas. What could that be short for?_

“Did you get a chance to look at the dogs?” Jack asks him, once again pulling Dean’s attention away from Cas.

“I did,” he says with a smile. Then, shifting his body to give the boy his full attention, he continues by saying, “I’ve thought about it some, ya know, thought about gettin’ a dog. But I’m pretty sure that’s more of a commitment than I’m lookin’ for right now.” Even as he’s saying it, he realizes the truth of his words. He’s not even ready to welcome a dog into his house, and he’d almost brought home a wife.

For about the millionth time, Dean feels a swell of relief as he acknowledges calling off the wedding. He’d hated hurting Lisa like that, but it was better for her this way. He would’ve been a shitty husband. Sure, he would’ve tried. But it wouldn’t have been enough; not near enough.

“If you’re not ready, then you’re not ready,” Jack is saying to him.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and then with both a dog and a wife on his mind, he adds, “but maybe someday.”

With that, he begins to step away. It seems like time to go. Another volunteer is stepping up and Cas turns to hand her the guinea pig he’d been holding for the kids. She kneels down amongst the children and begins talking to them as they pet it. Relieved of his burden now and likely having just been rotated out for a break, Cas steps closer to his son and asks, “Didn’t you get anything for yourself?”

“I ate already,” he answers, his eyes flicking back to Dean. “You can go sit down if you want, dad, I’m going to stay here and help out. Did you eat yet Coach?”

“Naw,” he answers, feeling put on the spot, “I had a big breakfast.”

“Aw, c’mon Coach,” says the boy in a pleading tone, “the barbeque here is the best. You could eat with my dad so he doesn’t have to sit alone.”

Before Dean can even look over at the man, he’s already speaking. “I’m sure the Coach has other plans, Jack. Besides, I don’t want to be gone from this table for long. There’s a lot of little hands to be watching.”

Glad to have the temptation of an impromptu lunch date removed from him so easily, Dean once again prepares to exit. To his student he says, “It was good to see ya, Jack, but I better get goin’. I’m glad you told me about this, though” he adds, referring to the market, “it was better than I expected.”

“I’m glad. And it was good to see you too, Coach,” says Jack, his eyes darting back to his father again.

Following the boy’s gaze, Dean turns back to Cas. “It was good to see you, Mr. Kline.”

“And you as well, Mr. Winchester, good luck this season.”

If the man wasn’t holding a plate of food, Dean might be tempted to go in for a parting handshake. Their first touch had him craving another. But instead he turns and walks away.

It’s not unusual to see a parent around town and not really remember having met them before. Unless they’re a trouble-maker, a known gossip, or incredibly attractive, most aren’t memorable in the least. But, since Cas definitely qualifies as the latter, it’s fair to say that the memory of those piercing eyes and warm handshake will stay with him.

When he’d first arrived at the market, Dean had seen lots of things he wanted to buy. Unwilling to be burdened with carrying it all, he’d promised himself that he’d just make his purchases on the way out. But now that he’s leaving, nothing appeals anymore. Not even a plate of smokey barbeque.

Carrying his bag of corn, he walks back to his baby. The ride home is pleasant, but he doesn’t even turn on the radio for some reason.

Walking inside, he drops his sweet corn on the kitchen table and goes to the fridge for a beer. Tipping it back, he takes a long pull and then leans back on the counter. The house is quiet. Empty. Honestly, he likes it that way. But, for a few minutes, he almost wishes that he’d brought home a dog. Or maybe the hot dad.


	3. Through Binoculars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Destiella, for editing another long-ass chapter. We all appreciate your hard work! :)

                                                            

Dean wakes with a jolt, his alarm clock startling him. Reaching for it, he thumps the button to turn it off and flops back down on his pillow. Normally he wakes on his own, long before the alarm actually goes off. But he still sets it each night so that he doesn’t have to worry about accidentally oversleeping. Sadly, on days like this when he winds up sleeping late enough to need the alarm, there’s no extra time for the little indulgences that he enjoys most other days - like lingering over his coffee and jerking off in the shower.  

Irritated with the day before it’s even begun, he rolls begrudgingly out of bed. His shower is far less enjoyable without a happy ending, and he keeps looking at the clock while he shaves. The minutes tick by too fast and before long, he’s rushing. Breakfast is a subpar cup of coffee from the gas station and a couple of donuts. With the cardboard box open on the seat next to him, Dean eats them while he drives. Once he’s parked in the faculty lot, he gets out and takes the box with him.

Entering the high school building near the main office, he heads for the hall where a grid of  wooden cubby holes serve as staff mailboxes. On his way there, he passes the front desk where Donna is busy on the phone. The fact that she seems to be embroiled in an unpleasant conversation doesn’t stop her from smiling cheerfully at him.

Giving her a wink, he pushes the half empty box of donuts across the counter to her. Strangely, her response is to point to her upper lip. Dean pauses mid-stride because he’s a bit confused by her gesture, but it only takes a split second to figure out what she means. To confirm his suspicion he touches his face and, yep, there’s powdered sugar around his mouth.  

Donnas grin widens when she sees that he understands and he continues walking as he dusts away the white powder.

Grabbing the stack of papers that are stuffed in his mailbox, Dean heads past the nurse’s office and down the hall towards his own office which is adjacent to the gymnasium between the locker rooms and the laundry.

Dropping into his chair, Dean thumbs through the stack of papers he’s holding. Mixed in with memos and flyers are a few phone messages and reminders. He lays those on the ‘things to do’ pile which seems to be growing at an alarming rate lately. The rest he simply reads and throws away after. At the bottom of his stack is a flyer for a haunted house that the sophomores are putting on. The event is a fundraiser and he’ll probably attend. He tries to support the kids whenever he can. Glancing back and forth between the flyer and the calendar on his wall a few times, Dean is eventually forced to accept that Halloween has snuck up on him this year. It’s this weekend.  

The school year is in full swing now and the days have been flying by. The first quarter will soon be over. His football team has now played seven games. They’ve won four, which is respectable enough, but it really chafes his hide that they lost to the Broncos again.

Dean’s feeling grouchy this morning. He thinks it’s probably just because his day didn’t start off well, but has to admit that his mood may also be attributable to the fact that he’s losing sight of the top of his desk. Seriously. That sprawling pile of things to do is taking up all his elbow room. The flashing red light on his phone indicates that there are also voicemails waiting for him. Irritated, he pushes away from his desk. His chair rolls across the floor and he thumps into the little table that sits next to the fridge. Without getting up, he starts a pot of coffee and then rolls back over to his desk. Cracking his knuckles, Dean turns his attention to the task at hand.

The first bell will be ringing in a few minutes and he’s got a PE class to contend with, but he’d like to get at least one thing done with this little window of time. Hitting the speakerphone button, he listens to his messages and jots down the information before deleting each. One of them is important so he quickly returns the call.

The first bell rings while he’s on the phone and the hallway floods with students. Their boisterous voices become something he can’t ignore or talk over, so he stretches to kick the door shut with his foot. By the time he’s off the phone, the hall is quiet again. Rising from his chair, Dean loops his whistle around his neck and grabs coffee before heading out to his first class of the day.

Short blasts from his whistle help vent the surliness that plagues him. He leans against the cinderblock wall as the kids run laps, venting his frustration whenever he sees one slacking. With the warm-ups complete, he drags over a huge net full of balls and has the kids number off into teams for dodgeball.

Some kids groan while others cheer, and Dean smiles to himself. Once the game is underway, he feels his foul mood start to lift. By lunch he’s feeling like his normal self. Rather than have lunch in the teachers lounge, he opts to take his tray back to his office. Working while he eats, Dean uses his lunch and the free period after it to get as much done as he can. Thankfully, his pile is considerably smaller when he heads out to teach Health class.

Entering the room, he drops his things on the wooden desk up front and writes the day’s topic on the whiteboard. The bell rings as he’s getting settled and students begin to enter, bringing chaos with them.

Bookbags thump to the floor and papers rustle as the hum of conversation grows. Looking up, Dean sees that everyone has a phone in their hands. Calling the class to attention, he moves to the front of the room and begins passing blank quizzes down each row of desks. A few kids sigh as though the effort is taxing for them, but most remain silent as they pocket their phones and bend their heads to begin. This is, after all, one of the easier classes a kid can take.

The room is silent while the students work and Dean spends that time covertly texting his nerdy brother. He sends gif after gif, chuckling under his breath as Sam sends him back repeated warnings to knock it off.

He sends a few Halloween themed ones.

“Dean, I’m working. Cut it out.”

He sends one of an evil clown.

“Seriously Dean. I’m trying to work.”

Another creepy clown gif.

“Don’t you have some minds to mold?”

A series of three lawyer gifs.

“Dean. Seriously. I’m not answering anymore.”

Dean grins as he sends an angry brother themed gif and, finally goaded into responding, Sam responds with a bad teacher gif.

When students start walking up to turn in their completed quizzes, the peace and quiet begins to disappear. Little by little, the soft whispers and fidgeting grow louder until there’s a hum of activity that can’t be ignored. Looking around the room, to verify that everyone is finished, Dean straightens the pile into a neat stack and tucks the quizzes away before moving to stand front and center in the classroom.  

“Okay, that quiz ended our unit on Mental, Emotional, and Social Health. So, if you’ll all open your textbooks to page ninety eight, we can start in on Unit 3, Injury Prevention and Safety.”

In Dean’s experience, the kids in his classroom tend to tap out around the two minute mark. Some stay attentive longer than others, but as time ticks by the number of students slipping into a slack-jawed trance continually increases. By the ten minute mark, he’s basically talking to the walls because everyone with a pulse is five worlds away. They’re either covertly looking at their phones, doodling in a notebook, or lost in a daydream. That’s why Dean has always made sure to keep his own talking to a minimum.

Trading lectures for discussion whenever possible, he puts his effort into keeping the students on track to cover the material. Many of the questions he asks to keep the discussion moving are actually swiped directly from textbooks’ review questions but since he re-words them, the class never seems to notice.

The title “Injury Prevention and Safety” sounds dull, but in his experience, the chapters contained in this particular unit will actually produce some of the most intense discussions of the year. Covering topics like alcohol and drugs, bullying, hate crimes, and the actions of bystanders during intense situations, this unit will definitely ignite some heated debates.

Today they don’t have much time because they’ve lost almost half the period to a quiz, and when the bell rings it’s a little bit jarring. It feels like they’ve just started picking up momentum and then class is over before everyone even got to weigh in with their opinions.

But, as a teacher, it’s always rewarding to watch an entire classroom full of teenagers hear the bell and be surprised that the time is up. It means they’re engaged. Thinking and learning - not just watching the clock and waiting for class to be over. In fact, that’s one of Dean’s favorite things about teaching… that spark that he sees when a kid suddenly starts to care about what's being taught.

Back in the gymnasium, Dean begins his last PE class of the day by, once again, having the kids  number off into teams. With a satisfying blast of his whistle, Dean begins another game of dodgeball. Grinning as he watches them, he doesn’t even let the whistle fall to his chest. It stays between his lips for most of their allotted time, and he blows it for anything and everything. For Dean, the whistle is a guilty pleasure, it makes him their god.

When he returns to his office at the end of the day, he updates attendance and grades on the school’s portal and then checks his email. His eyes are blurring by the time he’s finished. Thank fuck he’s not working a job where he had to stare at a computer screen all day.

Before heading out, he works on his “To Do” pile for a bit. As he’s doing that, his phone buzzes with a new message. It’s from Sam.

“Since you had so much time to spam my phone today, I know you’re not busy. So, you have no excuses for not calling that girl I told you about.”

“Oh, I forgot about that,” he replies, hoping that Sam will pick up on his indifference and drop it.

“I’m not going to forget about it,” returns Sam, “her name is Tessa and I’ve told her to expect your call.”

Dean re-reads the message twice. It includes her contact information. He texts back a few choice words before asking why on earth his brother is so interested in making sure that Dean meets this lady.

“She’s nice,” Sam answers.

“Nice? Sammy, I’m not sure you really understand what I look for in a woman.”

“Lisa was nice.”

“Ouch,” he texts back pointedly, “why not just kick me in the balls man?”

“Okay look,” responds his brother, “I know you don’t like the idea of settling down yet. But that’s why she’s perfect for you. She’s adventurous. She wants to travel. I think you’d really like her.”

“You live in Minneapolis. That’s five hours away. Why would you wanna set me up with someone who lives that far away?”

“She’s moving to your area, that’s why. She works for this company that just bought out a half dozen hospitals around the state and she’s the point person on the transitional team for one of them. She’s just rented a place over in Maple Grove. That’s what, half an hour from you? Dean, you should give her a call.”

“Okay,” he relents, “I’ll call her. But this is a favor to you. You owe me one.”

“Sure Dean, whatever you say,” replies his brother. That message is followed by a gif so ridiculous that he busts out laughing. He fires back one last creepy clown and then he calls the girl.

It’s Halloween night when they meet up. Based on the way that Sammy had described her to him, Dean had been expecting her to be a bit aloof… a big city career woman venturing out into the veritable wilderness of the American midwest to oversee a high dollar merger. But she didn’t wind up being what he’d pictured at all.

First and foremost, she’s got a very disarming face. No wonder she’d been tasked with transitioning ownership. It would be impossible for anyone to hate this doe-eyed young woman. She had dark hair and wide eyes - totally his type.

Rather than take her to the movies, he’s opted for the haunted house fundraiser at the school. Though he’d paid for their admission, he can’t help but smile as he watches her slip an additional donation into their bucket.

The line for entry is long, but that gives them some time to get to know one another. Then, as they head inside, she drops behind and lets him lead. He likes that. He likes it even more when she hooks a finger in his belt loop to keep them tethered as they make their way through the spooky maze. With every scare, she screams and plasters herself to his back. Being startled again and again pumps his body with adrenaline and by the time they make their exit, he’s practically buzzing; feeling exhilarated, and perhaps even a little bit self-conscious for having screamed a few times. Tessa seems to be feeling the same and her dark eyes are sparkling as the two of them climb back into his car. .

He drives across town then, taking her to the nicest restaurant in town. It’s probably nothing compared to the fine dining she is used to in the city, but the Riverside Grill is part of the golf course and it’s truly the best this town has to offer. It’s cozy too, themed to look like a lodge. She takes his arm when he offers it and they walk inside. They even luck out and get seated in a booth near the hulking stone fireplace.  Starting off with drinks, they work their way through appetizers and a meal.

Dean enjoys getting to know her.  He likes the inner calmness that she wears like a second skin. In his experience, most women tend to talk and talk on a first date, filling every silence with mindless chatter. But not his one. She speaks with candor and asks insightful questions. He’s normally someone who tends to get bored and drift off while his dates are speaking, much like students do when a teacher is lecturing. But with Tessa, Dean’s finding himself effortlessly interested in their conversation. She’s earning his respect, and because of that, he’s answering her questions with uncharacteristic honesty.

After, he drives back to her place. But, he doesn’t attempt to get her into bed and he doesn’t promise to call her either. Instead, he’s completely honest. He tells her that he had a great time, that he’s glad they met, and that he really hopes she winds up liking it here. Then, he leans in and gives her a soft kiss on the cheek. He hopes it conveys his warm feelings to her, but he’s careful to make sure that there’s no illusions of passion either. The friend zone. That’s where he wants her.

There’s about twenty minutes of driving before he’ll be home and as he navigates the darkened highway, he leaves the radio off so he can think. He knows why he didn’t try to sleep with her, that’s easy enough. She’s got connections to his brother and he’d have to be very careful in untangling from her afterwards. What he doesn’t understand, and needs to think about, is why he already knows that he doesn’t want to keep seeing her.

He’d liked her a great deal, so why is he so completely uninterested in pursuing even a second date? When he arrives back in Valley Falls, he’s still got no answer to that question.

Pulling onto his street, Dean chuckles to himself when he passes a hideous old Lincoln parked at the curb in front of the Bagley’s place. He can only assume that his neighbors have bought their teenage son his first car.

Lots of parents seem to think that older cars, ones made with more metal and less plastic, are inherently safer. To an extent, they’re right. But newer cars have features that old ones don’t… like rear-view cameras, anti-lock brakes, and air bags.

Idling in his driveway as he waits for the garage door, Dean almost feels sorry for the kid. He goes to a private school for christ sake, what kid in a private school wants to drive up in an old pimpmobile like that?

When his baby’s been tucked away in the garage, Dean enters his house through the back door and flicks on the kitchen light. He grabs a bottle of Whiskey from the cupboard and a clean glass from the dish drainer. Flicking out the light as he leaves the room, he then heads upstairs.  

Still clueless as to why he’s not pursuing anything romantic with Tessa, Dean’s done thinking about it for tonight. At this point, his attention has turned to his physical needs. It’s been a while since he got laid and she’d been very attractive to him so a vague feeling of want has settled over him. Additionally, she’d touched him a lot during their time together. It wasn’t like she’d groped him or anything, but she’d been clinging to him in the haunted house, leaning into him as they walked arm-in-arm, and laying her hand on him gently at every opportunity.  Her constant touching had awakened a carnal appetite in him and now that he’s home, Dean’s focused on satisfying that hunger.

He turns on the television and in the blue light it gives off, he digs through the top drawer of his dresser where the unmentionables are. He’s already cupping himself through his jeans as he tosses a dildo and some lube onto the bed. Pulling his shirt off as he walks over to the closet, he reaches up to the top shelf at the back and grabs the unmarked box where his pornos are stored.

Selecting one he hasn’t seen too many times, Dean pops it in the player and undoes his jeans. Kicking them off as he climbs up onto the bed, he peels off his underwear and socks as he waits for the opening sequence to be over. Once the good stuff starts to play, he relaxes onto his side. Reaching behind himself, he lazily begins teasing at his hole with a lubed up finger.

Taking his time, he enjoys watching the couple on screen as his touch goes from light and teasing to heavy and penetrative. As the twosome on the TV becomes a threesome, he adds an obscene amount of lube and works in another finger. Shivers break out over his back as he feels himself starting to stretch. His eyes drift away from the screen and close occasionally as he enjoys the sensuality of fingering himself. The raunchy sounds of porno sex fills the room around him. Tingles gather around his entrance as he plays with it and slowly the feeling spreads out to envelop the entire lower half of his body in a warm humming sensation.

He loves this feeling and wishes he had a partner in his bed to do it for him. And, as long as he’s making wishes, it would be awesome if that someone was occasionally inclined to just turn him over and fuck him when the mood is right.

Hell, even thinking about being manhandled into position is making his chubby cock twitch with interest. Dean’s been with a few men over the years but, oddly enough, he’s never actually been fucked. He’s been pegged quite a bit, but never been fucked by an actual dick. Pam had introduced him to the pleasures of pegging years ago, back when they’d been dating. At his request, Lisa had tried it too. Sadly, she hadn’t liked doing it the way Pam had.

Opening his eyes once more, Dean’s gaze finds the TV screen and watches tits bounce as he once again adds more lube. His stomach is churning excitedly as he picks up the dildo and brings it around behind him. Feeling something hard butted up against his expectant hole sends a new wave of shivers up his spine and he groans as he begins to gently push it in. Feeling his rectum resist the pressure he applies, Dean arches his back and closes his eyes to imagine what he must look like from behind as his entrance inevitably surrenders to the invasion.

He shudders when it finally bursts past his rim, and he has to take a moment to catch his breath before feeding it the rest of the way in. When he’s finally stuffed full, Dean is elated. He lays there on his bed with one knee drawn up towards his chest and a heavy hand resting on the back of the dildo to hold it inside him. He’s excited and his breath is coming in short, shallow gasps.

Returning his eyes to the sex happening on screen, Dean watches for a while as his body rides the high that seems to come with being penetrated. Only when he begins to calm does he actually start working the toy in and out. Even then his motions are measured, slow and smooth. Pulling the toy back invokes a strange feeling that’s not especially pleasurable, but which he finds somewhat erotic. Pushing back in, however, is indescribably gratifying. It’s sensuality amplified, salacious and raunchy, a physical act that satisfies his most animalistic yearnings.

Deep down inside, Dean’s got a powerful urge to yield. To surrender. To feel himself be speared and impaled, his most guarded orifice breached and drawn tight around the exquisite intrusion of a lover. To have the limits of his body tested in the raw pursuit of pleasure.

Feeling something hard between his butt cheeks is exciting, even if it’s silicone in lieu of flesh. He can feel himself clenching around the width of it and with each spasm his lust is renewed and increased. There’s also an added thrill in doing something dirty like this… something that he’d be ashamed to be caught doing.

Each time he sinks that fake cock back in, Dean’s lewd excitement builds. His cock plumps a bit more with each push and his limbs are noticeably starting to tingle. With his dick growing hard again, Dean decides to roll onto his back and start stroking it. Hoping to stay stuffed full as he jerks off, he begins to carefully turn over. It’s as he’s changing positions that movement catches his eye from across the room.

Shit. His window.

In it, he sees his reflection. That means he forgot to drop the blinds. Of course it’s unlikely that anyone actually has seen him. The houses on this block have generous yards that leave plenty of space between dwellings. Plus, he’s up on the second floor. But, what he’s doing is quite private so he decides to get up and go close the blinds anyway.

Gingerly rearranging his limbs, Dean maneuvers his feet to the floor and stands. It’s not easy to walk, he finds, not with seven or eight inches of hard cock embedded in him. Slowly, he walks across the room, grinning like an idiot as he watches his reflection approach the window. His cock his huge, dipping and swaying with his movements. He loves the way his body looks right now, and the way it feels.

When he reaches the window, he peers outside. Scanning the neighboring houses, he sees nothing unusual. There’s certainly no one gazing out their window and into his. Given that he doesn’t have an audience of any kind, Dean goes ahead and takes another long look at himself. Turning to the side, he drinks in the shape of his body in profile, especially the protrusion from behind him. Gripping it with one hand, he watches himself pull it back and then push it back in, his back bending beautifully as his perfectly rounded ass hungrily takes in a shiny black cock.

“Fuck yeah,” he murmurs, repeating the action once more. Then, hating to do it, he reaches up and pulls the cord to drop the blinds.

 

                                                                                                                                                                                    

 

It’s after midnight on Halloween and Jack’s been drinking and smoking for hours. Claire and Kaia have been wrapped up in each other all night so he’s been mostly hanging with his guy friends. He’s not in any shape to go home, but even with the extra hour he’d been given tonight, curfew is coming up quick.

Looking around the party he doesn’t see anyone who looks like they haven’t been drinking and those that he rode here with are absolutely shitfaced. And, with every hour that he stays here, it’s harder to give a shit about actually going home at all.

“Hey,” says Claire, dropping an arm around his shoulders, “Where’ve you been all night?”

“Um, right here,” he jokes, gesturing at the couch he’s sitting on with Chris. “But I can see how you didn’t notice, considering your face has been glued to Kaia’s all night long.”

She crinkles her nose at him and tosses her hair over her shoulder as she glances over at her girlfriend. That’s what Kaia is now, Claire’s girlfriend. It happened officially tonight. They’re fully a couple. He doesn’t even feel bad about giving her shit right now. Thanks to the weed and beer, he’s perfectly happy. His words have no hint of anger or jealousy in them and he’s truly just one friend razzing another friend for sucking face all night.

“How are you getting home?” she asks him.

“I dunno,” he shrugs.

“It’s getting late.”

“Sure is.”

“Wanna just stay here?”

“Can we?”

“We can call and ask.”

“If Jody says yes, my dad will too.”

“You sure about that?” she asks, plopping down next to him.

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

“I bet that goes both ways,” she grins, “watch this.” She fumbles with her phone for quite a while before managing to put a call through, but then Jack watches as she speaks to her adoptive mother. Reassuring her mom that the party is pretty much over, she then goes on to say that she’d like to stay over. Rob’s house is clear out in the country and it’s just easier to stay here and come home in the morning. Jack is staying too, she lies, Mr. Kline already said it was fine. Yes, they’ll look out for each other and be safe. Watching her, Jack has to smile. She tells Jody she loves her and ends the call with a triumphant grin. “Told ya,” she gloats.

“You were awesome,” he tells her, handing her his phone, “Now do mine.”

“No way,” she giggles, pushing it back to him, “do your own.”

“But you’re so good at it. Please?”

“Alright,” she concedes, “but tell me again how good I am first.”

“You’re the best. You should win an Oscar. Now, please, call my dad for me.”

“You owe me,” she snickers.

“I owe you shit,” he snarks as she’s hitting the call button.

Watching attentively, Jack sips his lukewarm beer and listens. He can only hear her side of the conversation. “Hello, Mr. Kline? Hey, it’s Claire. Oh yeah, everything’s fine. I just called because our ride kinda fell through. No, that’s okay. You don’t have to. Actually, a couple of our friends are staying over and we wanted to stay too. Jody said it was okay for me, and I was wondering if Jack can stay too. Yeah, we’ll totally watch out for each other. Yep. I promise. Thanks Mr. Kline. Yep, bye.”

“You’re the best,” Jack tells her.

Acknowledging him but quickly changing the subject, she asks, “You scored a bag off of John tonight, right?”

“Yep,” he answers, giving the ‘p’ an extra pop.

“Pony up,” she grins, holding out her palm.

Twisting on the couch to reach into his back pocket, he pulls out a plastic bag of mostly shake and drops it into her hand. “You roll them better than I do anyway.”

“This is all that's left?”

“Yeah, sorry. Not sorry.”

“Whatever,” she replies with an eye roll. Then, as she bends forward over the coffee table, he hands her a pack of zig zags. She focuses on the task at hand, but chats with him as she works. “You go with the guys when they went to TP Mr. Shurley’s place?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“They were too drunk to be driving and I promised my dad.”

“Good for you. Did you go outside at all?” she asks, referring to the raging bonfire that had been going earlier.

“Yeah, for a while. The bugs were bad though. I was getting bitten up so I came in.”

“I was just out there. Some of us walked the back fence where the woods start. It was fuckin’ creepy as hell.”

“I bet.”

“What’s wrong,” she asks, leaning in. “You were fine a few minutes ago and now you look like someone snuffed one of your hamsters.”

“I don’t know,” he sighs, “I guess I might feel a little bit guilty.”

“I didn’t technically lie to your dad, Jack. I lied to my mom.”

“It’s not the lying,” he says, trying to find words for his feelings. “I think it’s just that I’m not coming home. Like, I don’t have that much more time living at home. And he’s always up when I get in. You know how he is… always waiting for me to come home just so he can make me something to eat and talk to me a couple minutes. He probably stayed up all night just to see me when I came home and then we called him at the last minute and asked not to come at all. I bet he’s bummed out and lonely and missing me. I feel like shit for doing it.”

“Dude. He probably hung up and said, ‘Thank fuck, I don’t have to stay up and make mac-n-cheese tonight’ and then went to bed.”

“I hope so,” he sighs. “But somehow I doubt it. Seriously. I’ve got to find someone for him soon.”

“I thought you were trying to make something happen with Winchester?”

“Nah, turns out you were right about him - he didn’t even look twice at my dad.”

“Well, there’s someone out there for everyone,” she consoles, handing him the first completed joint.

He pulls it to his lips and lights it. “That’s what they say,” he mutters around the joint. Holding it up between two fingers, he examines the glowing orange cherry at its tip. The smoke from it winds away from them in ribbons. The room is cloudy from all of the cigarettes and weed that have been smoked inside tonight.

Around them, most of the party-goers have left and those that remain are starting to relax. Across the room, there is a small cluster playing video games and Jack knows there are some kids clustered around the table in the kitchen. He can hear bits and pieces of their conversation. Some couples have disappeared from sight, having gone to seek out empty bedrooms for privacy. There are two girls passed out on the adjacent love seat, and Claire is starting to droop. Kaia has come to sit next to her and the two of them look quite cozy.

For another hour or so, friends drift in and out of their lazy conversation. At one point Jack gets up and heads to the kitchen. There are half empty pizza boxes on the counter and nearly empty bowls of chips sitting everywhere. He greets those sitting around the table as he helps himself to pizza. It’s been sitting out for hours, but he doesn’t care. He sits and chats for a while as he eats and then heads back to the living room to pass out. The lights are out now, only one lamp in the corner is on. The few people still awake are speaking in hushed voices. Grabbing a throw pillow from between two girls on the couch, he curls up on the floor and immediately starts to fade out.

Pulling him back awake, Claire’s voice is suddenly right next to him. “You look like a zombie,”  she says.

“You smell like one,” he teases back.

“Share your pillow,” she orders, pushing in close to him.

“Get your own,” he tells her, secretly hoping she won't.

“Be a good little boy and share.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, turning on his side to make room for her. Opening his eyes for just a moment, he looks around the room. Silvery moonlight is spilling in through the huge picture window above the couch. It glows on her skin, an odd shade of blue that seems to make her eyes even brighter. When she’s all settled in, he says, “I’m gonna miss you next year.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I don’t think you’ll miss your dad half as much as you think you will. But me? You’ll miss me twice as much.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because with him you expect it, so it won’t be that bad. With me, it’ll hit you hard because you never really thought about it.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Your dad’s gonna be fine,” she adds. “Even if he’s alone.”

“I know,” he sighs. “I just want good things for him, you know? He deserves it. If I had my choice, I wouldn’t leave until he’d found somebody.”

“We love our parents,” she tells him, “and they know we do. Just like we know they love us. But when we grow up, we move out on our own. We leave them. That’s the natural order of things… just like with birds.”

“Birds?”

“Yeah, birds,” she smiles, her eyes glassy in the moonlight. “Birds lay eggs. They sit on them to keep them warm, even stop eating if they have to, just to keep those eggs warm. Then, when the eggs hatch, the momma bird goes out and gets food. She gets enough for the babies and feeds them first, then feeds herself. If there’s danger around, she’ll drop to the ground and fake a broken wing to draw the predator away… literally make herself live bait to wild animals if it saves her babies. But, Jack, do you know what that momma bird will do if the baby stays too long in the nest and doesn’t ever fly away?”

“What?” he asks her, genuinely curious and enthralled with her little story.

She’s looking at him intently and as he waits for her answer, her face begins to change. Slowly, the corners of her mouth begin to pull up. Her eyes morph from thoughtful to impish. There’s a smile coming, he can feel it. But it happens gradually, like those time-lapse photography videos of a flower blooming. Claire doesn’t speak, even when her smile has grown wide and teasing. Unable to resist, he smiles back at her, already feeling lighter. It’s only when he’s smiling too that she finally speaks. “If her baby doesn’t fly on his own,” she says, “the momma bird will push that little fucker right out of the nest.”

Both of them burst out laughing and for just one minute, everything is right with the world. The two of them together like this, it feels right. Always has. And in regards to his father, Claire’s right. She’s right and they both know it. He’s not leaving his father behind, he’s just growing up. It’s normal and his dad knows it’s happening. Expects it to happen.

Jacks happiness and utter contentment in this moment is short lived, however. Because before their laughter even abates, he’s hearing a voice from behind him. It’s Kaia.

“Hey blondie,” she greets, obviously speaking to Claire, “wanna take a walk with me?”

Claire scrambles to her feet while making a joke about being out in the woods on Halloween, and without even a goodbye, she’s leaving. He misses her immediately. The contentment she’d cultivated in him seems to be fading away now and coolness is setting in where the warmth of her body had been just moments ago.

 

 

 

                                                                                                                                                                                

 

 

Castiel is alone in his bed. Having left Dean’s place shortly after the blinds were drawn, he’d made it home over an hour before Jack’s curfew. Now that he knows his son won’t be coming home, he relaxes into the bed and thinks about his son’s teacher. He’d gotten quite a show tonight and now he can get off thinking about it without having to keep quiet, because he has the house to himself.

Thinking about what he’s seen, he strokes himself gently at first. Working harder, jacking faster, he builds a little but can’t seem to get over the edge. Frustrated, he sits up and flicks on the television to add porn for extra stimulation. It’s nothing compared to the live show he’d caught earlier, and it doesn’t help get him off. Briefly he considers getting in the car and driving back over to the teacher’s house even though he knows he wouldn’t be able to see anything now. His best hope would be that the bathroom light might flick on for 90 seconds at some point during the night. But for some reason, he’d almost rather be sitting outside Dean’s darkened house than be comfortably resting in his own.

Closing  his eyes again, Cas tries to recapture the intense feelings he’d experienced earlier by visualizing himself being back at Mr. Winchester’s place and watching through binoculars. The scene is quite fresh in his mind, having happened less than two hours ago. A dull ache of unfulfilled desire had begun to creep up on Castiel as he’d lingered to watch but he’d ignored it at the time, along with his painfully swollen cock. But now, alone in his bed and watching a replay of the events in his mind, he’s no longer aching with need because now he’s got two hands to squander on his own pleasure. With two slick fingers between his own cheeks and a firm hand on his shaft, Cas is soon on his side and rolling his hips smoothly between two points of pleasure.

Unlike most other nights, he’s not working to tune out a blaring television as he tries to get off. The room around him is devoid of distractions and the only sounds are the ones he makes, like the rhythmic squicking of lube under his palm as he jerks off and his own heavy breathing. He kind of wishes that he’d taken the time to get out more supplies though. He’d like to fuck into something more than just his hand tonight, but he doesn’t want to break the spell he’s fallen under as his mind reproduces the scene he’d witnessed earlier.

The images are so clear now that it’s almost as if he’s back there again, sitting in his Lincoln and sweating under a heavy trench coat as he eagerly watches the Coach turn on a porno, prep himself, and then push in an ambitious dildo. Interestingly, the teacher didn’t seem interested in adding more power or speed to his thrusts. But instead, he seemed to savor the experience of slowly and carefully fucking himself. Whether he knew it or not, the man was mimicking the way in which a gentle lover would’ve taken him for the very first time.

Oh, fuck, how Castiel wishes he could be up in that room. He’d sell his soul to actually hear the Mr. Winchester moaning as he’s touched and feel the bed moving beneath them. He’d do things, terrible things, just for the privilege of whispering sweet words to this man as he mounted him from behind. Then, when his thrusts grew hungrier, less tender, he’d reach around and grasp the Coach’s overheated cock. He’d stroke him artfully and devote himself to this man’s pleasure even as he chased his own.

More than anything else, Castiel wants to hear his own name tumble from those perfect lips while they fuck.

Tonight Cas had been treated to the single best show that Coach Winchester has ever put on. Sadly, he’d not been privy to its conclusion. When he’d turned onto his back, the man starring in Cas’s voyeuristic escapade had suddenly realized that his blinds weren’t drawn. He’d gotten up carefully then, walking towards the window without extracting the dildo. Still impaled by it, he’d come to stand framed in the window and before reaching up to close the blinds, he’d actually preened for a moment. Remembering it now, Castiel forces his mind to make a small leap. Rather than accepting the reality of blinds being pulled shut, he opts for transitioning from memory to fantasy.

Imagining Mr. Winchester still bathed in the silvery flickering light of a television, Cas pictures the man looking out into the night. His probing eyes search the darkness and come to find Cas in his car with binoculars locked on his own second floor window. He looks closer, as if doubting what he’s seeing for a moment before accepting that he’s got an audience. And, clearly, he’s pleased. With his chin held high, the sexy Coach takes a step back from the window and purposefully leaves the blinds open.

Cas feels a surge of lust as the fantasy becomes clearer in his mind. The Coach grins wickedly as he takes himself in hand and strokes his hardened cock. Turning slowly, he pivots to offer his watcher the view of his profile. Reaching behind himself, he uses his free hand to push the dildo deeper. Obviously enjoying the dual sensation, the man strokes his dick as he begins working the fake black cock in and out in slow motion. Once again turning his body a bit, the Coach offers his voyeur a better view of his rounded buttox which is gloriously spread around its welcome intruder. Pulling back slowly, the man appears to take a deep breath before he pushes it back in. His bicep flexes with the effort of it as he impales himself once again.

With this incredible scene unfolding vividly behind his eyelids, Cas strips his own cock heavily with one hand while scissoring the fingers of his other hand urgently in his own greedy hole. Building faster, even as his arms plead battle fatigue, Castiel rocks relentlessly on his side in the bed to a dirty and salacious fantasy of his son’s teacher.

Imaging the man pleasuring himself in full view of the street is hot as fuck and in Cas’s mind, the man is looking out the window with a desperate expression on his face. His eyes search the dark to find the one he knows is watching and when their gaze finally connects, Cas finds himself a prisoner under the man’s heavy stare. He urgently jerks himself off as he pictures it happening and he’s nearly there - so damned close.

Sweaty and groaning as his body twists in the sheets, Cas imagines the Coach turning seductively as he fucks himself, pivoting his body so that his ass fully faces the window. He’s offering his watcher a direct view of his hole. The act is impressive in its raunchiness and raw carnality. Through his binoculars, Cas enjoys an unobstructed view of the teacher’s entrance, stuffed with the impressive girth of his toy dick.

As if that wasn’t enticing enough, Mr. Winchester then starts backing up and bends to press his ass to the window pane. Milky white cheeks spread flat and smooth against the glass and sitting dead center is a perfect black circle.  

_Oh, Mr. Winchester._

_You shouldn’t have._

Cas’s dick is aching to be where that toy is and it feels like forever since he’s wanted someone as badly as he wants the Coach. With exhaustion creeping up on him, Castiel abandons his current fantasy in favor of a better one, desperate to climax. He takes a deep breath as it comes to life in his mind and his skin prickles with excitement as he imagines, for the first time, being on the other side of that distant window. His burning muscles find renewed strength and vigor as his mind projects him into the teacher’s room where his eyes are free to greedily rove over the man from a distance where touching is possible.

The man glances over his shoulder to wink flirtatiously at Cas because he likes how it feels to keep his admirer spellbound. Then, Mr. Winchester begins to bend over.   

_That ass. My god, that ass. Those bowlegs._

As the man gets down on his hands and knees, Castiel drinks in the sight of him. His cheeks still spread around a protruding sex toy. It’s buried deep and shimmering oil glistens on his skin, pooling at the man’s entrance and spreading along his crack.

As he gets to his knees behind the man, Cas reaches out to touch him for the very first time. The teacher seems to feel it and spreads his legs wider, arching his back dramatically and tilting his hips as if to offer his hole.  

It’s just a fantasy, he knows that, but he’s completely caught up in it. Watching his own hand as it closes around the slippery dildo, he continues frantically jerking off and finger fucking himself as he imagines how it would feel to gently extract that toy. The scene is so real to him that he can practically hear the squelching of lube as the fake cock is pulled free. The man’s greedy hole clings tightly, reluctant to let go of such fulfillment and find itself empty and wanting again.

Cas tosses the thing aside the moment he’s worked it free and turns his attention to the heavy cock between his own legs. In his mind he’s shuffling forward on his knees, positioning himself to sink into this man’s dark, wet center. But, in real life, he’s damn near stroking out as he works his dick and hole harder than he ever has before. Clenching his eyes shut, he relentlessly pursues his orgasm while his mind continues to fantasize about pushing his cock into the hot and slippery hole that’s spread out before him like an offering.

Just as it’s about to happen, an explosion of sound and color overtakes him and the pleasure he’s been building in his body all night long finally bursts from inside him. All at once he feels everything and nothing, sees all the colors and none at all, hears himself cry out in relief and sweet rapture just as he’s plunged into a vacuum of absolute silence.  

He can’t think - can’t even process it all. It’s an overload and every one of his senses abandons him completely. Then he’s just floating in blackness for the space of a few heartbeats. Consciousness returns by throwing him back into his body with a violent shudder. He can’t control his limbs and they flail as Castiel is bombarded with more pleasure than he’s actually capable of processing.

Eventually the overwhelming, pulse pounding sensation begins to subside. It’s only then that he’s able to really enjoy it. Riding the wave as it rolls pleasurably over him, Cas begins to relax into the bed and a flood of endorphins soon fills him with a sense of joy and well-being.

It takes a long damn time for his breathing to return to normal. Despite being utterly spent, Castiel is wide awake. He lays there for a long time thinking about things. He ponders the fantasy he’d conjured, the man who inspired it, and the son who’d be sickened if he knew about it.

He also thinks about his physical body and how he’s not twenty years old anymore. It’s not unheard of for a man in his forties or fifties to actually have a heart attack or stroke while in the throes of passion, and given the experience he’s just had, Cas can’t help but wonder how close to that he may have just come. He also wonders about the climax he’d had. It was easily the most powerful he’d ever felt and it was impossible not to be curious about why this particular wank session had triggered it when even the more robust exploits of his vigorous youth had not. Maybe it was because he’d worked so hard for it? That was odd too, actually, an orgasm evading him for so long despite the scintillating evening he’d had.

Castiel’s head is spinning and he’s literally glazed in sweat from head to toe and sticky with both lube and drying cum. As his skin cools, he begins to realize that the sheet under him is wet. This isn’t just the usual wet spot that he can roll away from either. It’s a huge damp spot that's the shape of an egg and the size of a grown man. He’d probably been sweating into the sheets for quite a while.

He’s getting cold now and starting to shiver. With his ears still ringing a little, Cas gets up to change the bedding. His knees buckle under his weight, but they hold him. As he goes about stripping his bed on shaky legs, he’s still thinking.

Mr. Winchester had put on quite a show tonight. The man had never been overly cautious about his windows in the past, but to see the Coach naked and openly preening in front of his window had been quite a surprise. It was bold.

Tonight had also the first time that Cas had seen the teacher put anything more than a finger in his ass. The way he’d used the toy seemed to indicate minimal experience with it, but even from an outside observers vantage, it had been obvious that Mr. Winchester had been enjoying it. Also interesting Castiel was the way that the Coach had watched his reflection in the window glass. Even from the street Cas had been able to see that the man’s attention had been focused on the dildo. He’d actually turned so that he could see it sticking out of his ass and then stared intently as he’d fucked himself with it.

The sight had been jolting and extremely erotic for Cas. But, it’s only in hindsight that he’s beginning to realize that what he’d seen had also put a question in his mind.

_Could Mr. Winchester be gay?_

Logic immediately jumps in to remind him that just because a guy likes ass play, doesn’t mean he’s gay. But then again, there’s a notable difference between enjoying a little ass play, and being aroused by the sight of oneself taking a dick.

Mr. Winchester had seemed so enthralled with his reflection, turning his body purposefully so that he had a good view of his anal defilement. He’d also arched his back wantonly as he’d pushed the toy deeper, watching himself as he did it and clearly proud of how he looked. Those were strong arguments in favor of the Coach harboring at least a mild interest in being fucked - not just enjoying a little anal play, but actually wanting to ride a cock. It doesn’t seem likely that a straight man would enjoy seeing himself take it in the ass, but who is he to say? Cas is a long way from straight.

The idea of Mr. Winchester being gay and closeted seems unlikely. The man simply doesn’t seem like one to hide who he is.  The idea of him being a little bit bi-curious seems more plausible, especially in a small town like this one. After all, how many opportunities were there for experimentation around here? It’s not like there’s a local gay club where a man could just sit at the bar for a while and watch, maybe do a couple shots and have a dance or two, follow someone sexy to the bathroom and give it a try… see if he likes it.

The idea of someone having their curiosities suppressed around here seems quite credible.

As a rule, Castiel doesn’t like to speculate on other people’s sexuality. But in this case, he’s damn curious.

From the beginning, Castiel has avoided direct contact with the Coach. He’s been so smitten with the guy that he worried his crush would be obvious. But, when they’d met in person at the adoption event, it had been Mr. Winchester who had been a bit out of sorts. It had been the sexy Coach who’d seemed to be looking at him with interest. For a moment, anyway.

Separately, the man's possible interest and his penchant for being penetrated are  dismissible. But together? Together they merit further consideration.

Over the next few weeks, Cas thinks about Mr. Winchester even more than usual. He wonders about his life, his family, his plans for the holidays, his favorite foods and books and movies.  Honestly, this crush is kind of taking over his life. Even now, standing at the kitchen counter to assemble a lasagna, his mind keeps looping back to the object of his affection rather than focusing on the task at hand.

When he bends over to put his completed work into the oven, he finds it cold. He’d been so preoccupied with thoughts of Mr. Winchester that he’d completely forgotten to preheat the oven.  Just as he’s getting the temperature set, he hears the front door. Jack must be home.

“Dad?” he calls.

“In the kitchen,” Cas answers back.

“Hey dad,” greets Jack when he comes striding in. “What’s for supper?”

“Lasagna, but not for about an hour. You may as well get started on your homework.”

“I’m hungry, is there anything to snack on?”

“There are chips in the cupboard.”

“I’m feeling more like something sweet. Have we got anything chocolate? Preferably with nougat?”

“I think there’s still some Halloween candy left,” he answers, “but I’m not sure if there’s anything with nougat. It’s pretty picked over at this point.”

Even as  he’s speaking, his son is pulling down the giant bowl from on top of the fridge. It was overflowing at Halloween, but that was weeks ago and it’s nearly empty now.

Cas turns away and begins cleaning off the counter as thoughts of Thanksgiving take over his mind. Turkey day is coming up fast and he’ll need to decide if he’s going to cook a meal for just the two of them, or if he’s going to invite others to join.

“Thanks, Dad,” says Jack from behind him.

Craning to look over his shoulder, he says, “You’re welcome.” But the kid probably didn’t even hear it. He’s already gone and Cas can hear the distant thumping of his feet ascending the stairs. Smiling, he finishes cleaning up while his mind considers the possibilities for Thanksgiving dinner. Briefly he entertains the idea of volunteering at the homeless shelter a few towns over. He’s heard they need help serving a holiday meal on the day, and it seems like something that would be good for Jack. But he quickly abandons the idea when something better pops to mind. He’ll invite Jody and Claire over to eat with them.

He pulls a box of frozen garlic bread from the freezer and adds calling Sheriff Mills to his mental list of things to do. He putters around making an ambitious salad for a while but still has time to kill before the main course will be ready.

Thinking it might be nice to make a dessert, he starts by pulling out a box of graham cracker crumbs that has been in the back of the pantry for way too long. He adds sugar and melted butter and presses the mixture into the bottom of a pie pan. Then, he puts cream cheese and powdered sugar in the mixer and beats them smooth. Adding some vanilla, he mixes once more before spooning the thick mixture into the crust. He sets it aside to make some instant chocolate pudding and then spreads that on top. Putting the whole thing in the refrigerator for a while, he cleans up the mess he’s just made and by the time he’s finished, it’s time to put the garlic bread in the oven. When that’s been done, he pulls his dessert back out of the fridge.

Savoring the rich scent of the meal he’s about to eat, Cas spreads a layer of whipped cream over his dessert and looks at the finished product proudly. He places it on the table and calls his son to come and eat. While waiting for Jack to come downstairs, he extracts their main dish from the oven and carries it to the table. By the time the bread is in a basket, Jack is pulling up a chair.

“Dad, this smells amazing.”

“You didn’t kill your appetite with fifty miniature candy bars?”

“Oh I had fifty candy bars,” he laughs, “but it didn’t kill my appetite.”

Before sitting down with his son, Castiel grabs the milk and pours them each a tall glass. Then, as he slides into his chair he congratulates himself. While making dinner, he’d only thought of Dean Winchester about a hundred times.

Both he and Jack fill their plates ambitiously and eat. They both take second helpings too. They chat about mundane things like the TV shows they’re currently watching, Jack’s classmates, and the possibility of him playing basketball this year. The young man seems to be on the fence about whether to go out for the team or not.

“It’s certainly your best sport,” Castiel says, trying to encourage his son without pushing.

“Funny,” Jack says with a tilt of his head, “I thought track was my best sport.”

“Well, it’s your best team sport,” Cas amends.

“I think I might do it,” he says and that seems to close the subject for the moment. Cas is helping himself to a second piece of dessert when Jack reaches for his vibrating phone. “Hey, Dad,” he says after glancing at the screen, “I’m gonna go out for a while after supper, okay?”

“Out? On a school night?”

“Yeah, Chris just texted and he’s on his way to pick me up.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“I don’t know,” he smiles, “just hanging out I guess.”

“Is your homework done?”

“Most of it.”

“Be home by eleven, okay?”

“Sure thing Dad.”

Before he’s even cleared the table, Cas hears a honk from out front. A beat later Jack thunders down the stairs. “Bye Dad,” he calls out as he goes. Cas doesn’t even have a chance to answer before he hears the door shut with a thump.

Shortly after that, Cas abandons the kitchen completely. He’s left the dishes stacked in the sink and gone out to the garage. Hastily pulling the tarp off of his ‘78, Castiel sets it aside and digs out his trench coat. As he gets ready and drives across town, all he can think about is what Mr. Winchester might be doing on a Tuesday night.

When he arrives at the house, he finds it dark. Parking in a good spot, he checks out the area before relaxing into his seat. It’s possible that the man is in bed, but not probable based on what Cas has observed in the past. Most likely, he’s out. But, it’s a school night. The odds of him arriving home before ten are good. Down the street, a garage door is opening, bright light spilling out into the night. Cas watches a huge pickup truck with dual exhaust and a thumping stereo back out. The garage door reverses back down as the truck departs, its heavy engine audible even after it’s turned the corner and disappeared from sight. A few minutes later, the truck returns. Cas can’t see it’s body yet, only it’s ultra bright headlights coming towards him. He closes his eyes against the glare.

Maybe whoever owns that truck had simply run up to the gas station for a pack of smokes or something because it had only been gone for a few minutes. When the powerful headlights swing away from him, Castiel opens his eyes again. He sees the truck pulling in where he knew it would. Just then, he’s startled as his own parked car is passed by another. His heart nearly leaps from his chest as the passing car whooshes by, loud and proud with music blaring.

Mr. Winchester’s vintage muscle car. It’s noisy approach from behind must’ve been concealed by the sound of that big ass truck. He’d also missed seeing the Coach’s headlights in his rearview mirror because he’d been cringing away from the high-beam headlights of the noisy pick-up.

He’s immediately grateful that he’d not had binoculars up to his eyes when the man had driven past his parked Lincoln. Recovering himself, Castiel considers fleeing. But, as he watches the sleek black car turn into the driveway, he tells himself that he’s being stupid. There’s no reason to leave. It’s not like the man had slowed his car down and looked at Cas through the window. He’d merely driven past, likely paying no attention to Cas’s vehicle at all. In fact, he’d probably been more concerned with pressing the button on his garage door opener than in checking out random cars parked on the street.

As it always does, the engine of the black car revs impatiently as it waits for the garage door to come up and then it glides easily inside. Once the door is back down, the neighborhood seems quiet and dark again.

From this vantage, Castiel can’t see the space between the garage and the house. He can’t see the light that will come on if Mr. Winchester enters that way. But he can see one of the bedroom windows from here and one of the living room windows, so he plans to wait and see what will happen.  

It feels like it takes ages, but he doesn’t give up hope. He knows how long a person can linger in the kitchen when they get home, especially if they’re making a snack on the stove instead of in the microwave.

Trying to pass the time, Cas pulls the binoculars to his eyes and begins scanning the dark windows to see which have curtains open and which don’t. He keeps an eye out for movement too, and for a split second, he thinks he sees something in one of the first floor windows. It’s not much, just a shifting of curtain. Hell, that could just be the heat turning on - warm air rushing up through a floor vent to ruffle the drapes.

Adjusting the depth and refocusing, he thinks he sees another movement in that same window. This time it’s the blinds. Wait. He’s definitely seeing something. What is that dark shape? Is that? No. It couldn’t be. Twisting the binoculars just a fraction of an inch, he clears the blurred edges and his heart stops cold. Fear shoots through his body and he drops the binoculars as he fumbles to hide himself.

From between the blinds, he’d seen the shape of a man. He hadn’t been sure at first, but once he’d adjusted there was no denying it. Not only had he seen a man, but he’d seen a man staring directly at him. Through binoculars.

Crouched down behind the wheel and panic stricken, he’s got no idea what to do next. Should he leave? He can’t start the car and drive away without putting his head up above the dash, otherwise he risks hitting one of the other cars parked along the curb. But yet, if he doesn’t leave then he’s a sitting duck. He’ll just be waiting here in his car for the police to come and arrest him.

Valuable time ticks by as he deliberates on what to do, and with each minute that passes, Cas starts to feel a little bit more foolish. After all, how can he be certain that he’d seen a man with binoculars? He’d been peering into a tiny slat between blinds from hundreds of feet away. At night. It was far more likely that what he’d actually seen was a pair of glasses sitting on top of a stack of books on an end table. Calmer now, Cas decides to just peek over the dash and see if anything looks amiss in the house.

Without his equipment, Cas’s naked eye sees the house in far less detail. But it’s still dark. The window where he thought he’d seen something is perfectly still, it’s blinds unmoving. Gaining courage a little bit at a time, he picks up the binoculars and pulls them back to his face. Still keeping low, he checks the windows one by one. Nothing.

Adrenaline is still surging through his veins from being startled and with no signs of danger coming from the house, he winds up laughing at himself for being so easily frightened. He drops the binoculars to his lap and gazes at the house for a moment longer. He may as well go home. No lights are on so either the Coach is still in the kitchen, or he’s gone straight to bed. Once again, a tiny movement in the same window catches his attention. He almost misses it with his naked eye. He watches for a moment and sees it again. One last time, he lifts the binoculars to check that window. Nothing. The curtain moves a little but there’s no other movement. He chuckles to himself as he realizes that the all of this was probably nothing more than hot air blowing on curtains in an empty room.

Ready to call it a night and head home, Cas glances around the neighborhood one last time before turning the key in the ignition. Easing out away from the curb, he rolls down the street. Once he’s turned the corner, he puts on the radio, but then at the next corner, a creeping dread spreads over him. Turning off of the main road and coming towards him is a black and white police car.

Before it even reaches him, Cas has thrust his binoculars under the seat. Now he’s thinking of what to say if he gets pulled over. There’s only one access to a main road from this neighborhood and he would’ve turned off of it in order to get on this street. How can he explain his presence in this neighborhood? If he’s asked for his license, the officer will see his address and ask what he’s doing here. If he even knew someone who lived nearby, he could claim to have been visiting a friend, but he doesn’t know a soul. Several different excuses pop into his head, but with an actual police officer closing in on him, they all sound lame to his own ears.  _This is it,_ he thinks,  _this is it._

But then, to his surprise, the car simply continues on past him.

Exhaling heavily, Cas puts on his blinker and turns out onto the main road. It was all just a coincidence. His guilt is making him paranoid, he realizes. There was no one looking at him from inside the Coach’s house and the cop he’d seen probably just lives in the neighborhood. Relieved beyond measure, he takes the quickest route home. Once his old car is safely tucked away and his gear is back in its storage tub, Castiel feels like he can finally relax.

As always, he looks around to be sure he hasn’t left anything out of place. Then he turns off the light in the garage and heads inside. In the kitchen, he putters around waiting for his son to get home. But one thought keeps coming back to him as he goes about his busy work. What if he’s not being paranoid? What if he really did see someone looking out at him from inside of Mr. Winchester’s house? And what if that police cruiser hadn’t been a coincidence at all?

 


	4. Honest Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always want to make sure and give thanks to Destiella for editing because I love that she's willing to do it and because she does a fantastic job. But, there are days when she really earns her props - even more than usual. Today is one such day. There's one particular place in this chapter where I truly hope that everyone bursts out laughing... and when readers find that place, I hope they know that she's the one responsible for it. (If it works and you laugh, that is. If you're reading and don't ever laugh aloud then, well, we've both failed.)LOL
> 
> Also, I want to give a little shout out to KittyKat213, Aurora, and WashingtonIrving. Each has kind of made my day at some point since the last chapter was posted. I hope you guys like this update. I'm already pounding out the next one, just FYI :)

                                                          

 

Dean and Lisa had done the holidays together a few times while they were together. In fact, last year Sam and his wife Eileen had come down from the city for both Thanksgiving and Christmas and stayed overnight in Dean’s spare bedroom.

Prior to their arrival, under Lisa’s guiding hand, the miscellaneous items stored in that room had been sorted and put away, curtains had been hung, a matching bedspread purchased, and a bedside lamp added, along with lots of other homey touches. The changes she’d implemented had turned Dean’s ‘spare room’ into an actual ‘guest room’. After the transformation was complete, Dean had been happy with the result but also a bit unnerved by how much their relationship had changed during the project.

In hindsight he could see that allowing her to take liberties with his home had solidified her place in his life, whether he’d intended it to or not. For a short time he’d even been a bit resentful, feeling as if she’d somehow staked a claim on his home and his life that he might not have really been ready to allow yet.

But, over the holidays he’d had a change of heart. Eileen and Lisa had bonded quickly and the four of them had genuinely enjoyed spending time together. Warm feelings permeated every meal, every outing, and every game of cards. Sam and Dean hadn’t shared a holiday since before his brother had gone off to law school, and even back then, the Winchester holidays had been nothing to look forward to. So, sleeping under the same roof as his brother again, even for just a couple nights, was balm for a wound that Dean hadn’t even known was festering in him.

Then, on Christmas Eve, Dean snuck out of bed in the middle of the night with Lisa. There had already been presents under the tree, which Ben had thoroughly investigated. But in the soft glow of Christmas lights the two of them had shared warm and sleepy smiles as they’d added all of Ben’s gifts from Santa. In that moment, any reservations Dean had still been harboring about Lisa just melted away.

This, he thought, was everything he’d always wanted… the whole package. A respectable job, a nice house, and family to fill it. With so much in easy reach, there had been nothing left to do but grab it. And grab it he did - just a week later on New Years Eve. Among friends and neighbors at the pub on main street, Dean had dropped to one knee with a ring in his hand at ten minutes to midnight and asked Lisa to make him a happy man.

His subsequent decision to break the engagement hadn’t been made lightly and when considering things, Dean’s mind had stubbornly returned to those holiday memories over and over as if to hammer home the point: that this was the life he’d always wanted. But, for all that he’d built it up in his mind, the whole thing had felt hollow when it finally belonged to him. So, when he’d actually broken things off with Lisa, he’d done it thinking that he’d be trading off those warm and fuzzy holidays indefinitely by letting her go.   

But, to his surprise, Sam and Eileen made plans to join him again this year. For that, Dean is infinitely grateful. Sure, things would be different without Ben and Lisa, but he still has a family. Small, yes. But his. All his.

Honestly, hosting the holidays is probably his duty as the older brother anyway, and it’s a duty he’s no longer oblivious to. He’d spent all last week baking different flavors of pie, sampling them, and trying to choose which he’d like to serve for the big get-togethers. He’d given lots of thought to the menu as well, and when he’d finished his shopping list earlier today, he’d immediately headed to the grocery store.

Now that the shopping is done, his car is weighed down with bags and his wallet is about two hundred bucks lighter. The days are getting shorter with the steady approach of winter and it’s already dark outside, which is kind of a bummer. It feels like the day has gotten away from him as he heads for home.

When he turns onto his street, thoughts of indulgent holiday meals slip away and he laughs out loud as he once again passes the ugly beast of a car that someone on his block must’ve recently bought.

As he cruises past it, though, something grabs his attention. It’s hard to tell, but it looks as if there’s someone in the car. Yes, there is. Turning to look closer, he squints trying to make out details in the dark but the cursory glance he has time for is just enough to see that the occupant of the car is an older male.

Dean’s immediately suspicious but can’t put his finger on why. Something about it just has his hackles up. He’s approaching his driveway so he has to return his attention to road ahead. As he does, his right hand automatically reaches up to tap the garage door opener. He doesn’t turn to look back at the Lincoln, but in his peripheral vision he can see that it’s still sitting there. It hasn’t pulled away from the curb, as it would be doing if someone were leaving nor does a door open as it would if someone were just arriving but there’s someone sitting in that car. He’s sure of it.

A bit curious and perhaps even a little leary, Dean pulls into the garage and parks. As the garage door closes behind him, he climbs out of his baby and heads straight for the little window over the tool bench. With a view to the street, he can see that the car still hasn’t moved. There’s no sign of anyone walking. Sadly, from this angle he can only see the front two tires of the car. Temporarily abandoning his groceries in the car, Dean heads inside with his mind set on another look.

It’s tempting to walk out to the street and check the mailbox just so he can get closer - have an unobstructed view. But, playing it cool, he heads inside.

Maybe it’s instinctive, but for some reason, Dean wants to observe the car without the occupant of that car knowing it. If he walks to the letterbox, he won't just see. He’ll be seen.

As he enters through the kitchen his mind is on repeat, replaying his glimpse into the Lincoln over and over. Suddenly it dawns on him why he’s reacting so strongly. His scrutiny wasn’t drawn simply because it was odd for someone to be sitting in a parked car like that, but because the person he’d seen was out of place. When he’d noticed that ugly car for the first time, he’d conjured up the only scenario that made sense to explain it… a teen driver. But even a glance had revealed the occupant of that car to be a man. Not a teen. A grown man.

Plus, Dean knows the neighbors. He isn’t chummy with them, but their faces are familiar. Whoever is sitting in that car doesn’t live here and that makes him suspicious.

Worried that the person he’s seen might be casing the neighborhood, Dean heads down to the basement where his storage is kept. As he scans the labels of boxes and plastic tubs, he’s trying to remember a recent discussion over the backyard fence with his nearest neighbor, Earl. The man had been talking about a robbery in town, quite a rare occurrence in these parts, but for the life of him, he can’t recall any details of the story.   

In one of the boxes from his youth, Dean finds an old pair of binoculars from back when he used to go hunting with his dad. Pounding back up the stairs with them clutched in hand, he leaves the lights off and heads to the front of the house. Dropping to his knees by a north facing window, he cautiously parts the blinds with one hand and raises the binoculars with the other. He sees nothing but blurr. It’s frustrating to try and remember how to use them when he’s in a hurry, and keeping a finger on the blinds as he uses two hands to adjust the lenses requires effort that draws whispered curses from his lips. The car is now in his sights but it’s still fuzzy and as his eyes strain to make out the details, his fingers are twisting the dials. Several times he turns them too far and then over-corrects, but eventually he manages to bring the entire frame into focus.

It’s jarring to suddenly see so clearly… even small details, like the fact that the steering wheel has a cover on it and that there’s a garage door opener clipped to the visor.

There’s still a man behind the wheel but he’s still as a stone. Dean’s body floods with adrenaline and his heart leaps into double-time beats as he realizes that he can’t make out the man’s face because it’s blocked by a set of raised binoculars.

The scenario is so unlikely that it takes him a moment to believe what he’s seeing. But it’s true, whoever is in that car is also using binoculars… and they’re pointed straight at him. Startled, he ducks out of sight. But, even as he’s dropping to the floor beneath the window sill, he knows it’s too late. He’s been seen, without a doubt.

With his heart racing, Dean fumbles into his pocket to pull out his cell. He’s jittery from the adrenaline rush but manages to google the number for the local police. When prompted, he tells the dispatcher that he’d like to report a suspicious vehicle. He gives the make and model and tells her that the male occupant of the car is watching his house with binoculars.

“Can you give  me a plate number?” she asks.

Fuck.  “Um, just a sec, I’ll see if I can get one.”

Laying the phone on the floor beside him, Dean flips back onto his knees and once more peers out from between two blinds. Unfortunately, the Lincoln now has it’s headlights on. He can’t see past the glare to get a plate number and he can’t see the driver anymore either. The binoculars clunk heavily against the window and then clatter to the floor as he fumbles to grab his cell. Watching with nothing but his own eyes now, Dean keeps his gaze locked on the car as it eases away from the curb, unhurried. To the dispatcher, he says, “Sorry, can’t get you a plate number.”

He gives his address when asked and tells her which direction the car drove off in. By the time his call ends, Dean has decided to be more vigilant in the future. He’s gotten quite comfortable over the years, living in this picturesque town where big city crime is so conspicuously absent. It’s time, he thinks. Time to start locking his doors and closing his curtains, keeping an eye on the cars that park nearby and maybe even setting up a neighborhood watch.

 

                                                                        


Jack watches Mr. Winchester pace back and forth at the front of the room while he leads the class in a discussion. He studies the man even more closely now then he did before, because it’s hard to believe that he’d been wrong about him. He had honestly thought that Coach Winchester was into guys, at least a little. But ever since the adoption event, he’s been second guessing himself.

Back on that day, he’d been so thrilled to see his teacher show up and so excited for how things would play out once his father and coach had met. But, the entire exchange between them had been stilted and awkward, at least what Jack had seen of it. When he’d suggested that the Coach have lunch with his dad, his father had been quick to rescind the invitation, as if the very idea of having lunch together was ridiculous.  And as he’d been let off the hook, the look on Mr. Winchester’s face had been one of relief… almost as if having lunch alone with a man was the last thing on Earth he’d want to do.

That look of relief was one Jack knew well. He’d seen his coach make that face a million times on the field. Every time someone was lining up to catch a baseball, Mr. Winchester would zero in on them and stare hard, as if he could somehow affect the outcome with the power of his will. Then, the second that ball made contact with a glove, the coach’s face would show relief. A beat later, he’d cheer.

Mr. Winchester’s behavior at the adoption event had been a strong argument against him being into dudes. But still, Jack isn’t fully convinced. He’s picked up on things in the past - things that only make sense if his teacher goes both ways. It’s impossible to know for sure, and it’s definitely none of his business, but that doesn’t stop Jack from paying close attention and analyzing the man’s every move. He just can’t seem to stop wondering which side his favorite teacher’s bread is buttered on… and picturing how good he’d look standing next to his father, his arm casually slung around the stiff shoulders that would soon begin to relax under the contact. Mr. Winchester would glance over and see his dad’s smile starting to form, tentatively, and he’d lick his lips. Jack is sure that’s kind of a tick for his teacher.

He’d begun noticing it his Junior year, back when the coach was engaged to Ms. Braeden. When the two would speak, he’d often glance down at her lips and then lick his own. Because he’d first noticed behavior in that context, he’d considered it to be a sexual thing. But then he’d seen it happen one day when Mr. Winchester had jogged across the gym during PE class to exchange words with a substitute teacher who’d stuck his head in the door. The two had spoken only briefly while the students were running laps, but as he’d passed by them, Jack had seen the coach do what he now internally labeled as ‘the lip thing’.

With nothing else to occupy his attention while circling the gymnasium over and over, he’d begun watching the two teachers more closely as they’d spoken. He’d then seen ‘the lip thing’ happen twice more.

After that, Jack had begun to notice that ‘the lip thing’ actually happened quite a bit. But it never happened when his coach spoke with the lunch ladies, despite his friendliness with them. It never happened with the aging wood shop teacher either. And it certainly never happened with the students. But it happened with surprising regularity when Mr. Winchester was with the Assistant Football Coach, who was young and energetic and inarguably attractive.

There are definitely indicators that his coach swings both ways, and sometimes it seems strange to Jack that no one else ever noticed. If he didn’t like Mr. Winchester so much, he probably wouldn’t care who he cozied up with at night. And if he didn’t love his father so much, he probably wouldn’t be so invested in making sure he found someone special. But to Jack, it seems that these men belong together. Both have vastly different personalities but are like-minded. Each is respectable and confident, yet not prideful or self-centered. They are good men, and whenever he imagines the two of them together, they seem genuinely happy.

When the bell rings, it startles him from his deep thoughts. Gathering his things and stuffing them into his bag as he gets up, Jack glances over at Claire. She’s tapping out a message on her phone with her pack slung over her shoulder as she waits for him and when he comes to stand next to her, she doesn’t even look up. But she does turn her body to fall in step with him.

Out in the hall, they move with the flow of other students and when she finally pockets her phone again, Claire looks over at him and says, “Wanna ride home?”

“Is Jody picking you up?”

“Nope. But we’ve got a ride with Kaia if we want.”

No. He doesn’t want. “Sure,” he says with a shrug, hoping to seem nonchalant. He’d rather walk home in the freezing cold than go anywhere with Kaia. But he knows that if he chooses to do so, Claire will go with him out of loyalty and he can’t stand the idea of her being miserable on his account. He’s got no choice but to accept, and as he broods about it, she’s already moving on to discuss other topics. They part company for the last class of the day and then reunite at their lockers afterwards. He follows along with the girls as they exit the school, paying no attention to their conversation and wishing there was practice today.

At least if there was basketball, he wouldn’t have to watch from the backseat as his best friend and his fierce competition for her attention sat too close, smiled too often, and sought out any excuse to touch one another.

He mostly looks out the window as they drive through town. The sky is a dull grey and the clouds seem low and heavy, almost as if they’re sagging under the weight of snow that’s ready to fall. The Thanksgiving holiday isn’t even past yet, but already many of the businesses have Christmas decorations in their windows. In a sharp contrast to that, there are a few houses that still have Halloween decorations up.

Kaia’s car is nice, almost as nice as his dad’s, and she plays trap music way to loud. When they pull into the little gas station on the corner, she leaves it running with the music blaring while she and Claire slide out. The two head inside, Claire turning to walk backwards for a few steps as she beckons him to follow with her eyes. Begrudgingly, he does. He grabs a Three Musketeers bar in the candy aisle while the girls linger at the cold case to choose drinks and after they’ve paid, the three climb back into the car.

Jack resumes looking out the window since no one is speaking to him. As they cross the bridge, he can see that the river is high and moving fast. His eyes follow the ribbons of white foam that twist sinuously with the current, slipping away downriver only to be replaced by more and more. It almost looks angry, he thinks. If water could be angry.

Kaia makes a sharp left at the next corner, and then another left into the deserted lot of a deserted building that used to house the local grocery store. A new one had been built a few years ago, and this dated structure had been lingering since, empty and posted for sale with weeds growing up through every crack in the pavement. Pulling around back behind the loading docks, Kaia comes to a stop and puts the car in park. From here, they’re looking out over the river, but all Jack can see through the windshield is the houses lining the opposite bank. He’d have to get out and peer down the steep riverbank to actually see water.

“This is a good spot,” says Claire, leaning forward to turn down the music.

“For what?” Jack asks, leaning forward.

It’s Kaia who answers. “To chill.”

She controls the windows from the steering wheel, dropping the ones on the left side of the car just a crack while the ones on the right open much farther. He hears the familiar flick of a lighter and a moment later the sweet smell of pot fills the car. As usual, Claire has trouble holding back the inevitable coughing fit when she inhales. Her eyes water a little as she battles it, growing glassy, and her lashes matte together a bit from the moisture. Her cheeks are rosy. Maybe it’s because of the cold air they’re letting in, or maybe she’s self-conscious and blushing. It’s hard to tell.

Soon her eyes will be red and puffy from smoking out. But for now, they’re clear and a unique shade of slate blue. Tinged pink later, they’ll turn indigo. But for now, a light and powdery blue. She gives him a nod as she passes to him first, probably trying to make up for the fact that he’s alone in the back seat.

“How’s basketball practice been going?” she asks, turning the music down even lower.

“Not bad,” he shrugs, bringing the joint to his lips. Miserable despite her company, he waits and takes a second hit before passing. Then he waits for the peaceful feeling of contentment that he knows will soon settle over him.

“Glad you decided to play this year?” she prods.

“Yeah,” he answers truthfully. He’d been uncertain at first, but not anymore.

“Talkative, that one,” chuckles Kaia to Claire as she prepares to inhale.

“Give him a sec,” she replies, looking at Jack when she says it. A smile slowly spreads over her face as she locks eyes with him. She seems to be waiting for him to catch on to something, which he soon does, realizing that she’s implying he’s talkative when stoned.

He smiles back at her, knowing it’s true. He’s not ashamed of it. She’s the exact same way and they both love their long and rambling discussions.

With his head suddenly growing heavy, Jack leans back in the seat to get comfortable. He lets his eyes drift closed for a moment now that he’s finally relaxing and starts to drift a bit. Up front, Kaia mentions that they only have a half hour left and Jack doesn’t even open his eyes when he speaks to ask, “What happens then, this carriage turns back into a pumpkin?”

“Wow,” she snaps, “someone got a bedtime story every night, huh?”

“I did,” he confirms happily. He doesn’t even mind the edge to her voice or his position in the back seat right now. Right now he feels just fine. He listens as Kaia clarifies, probably more for Claire’s sake than his, that she has to be home by four every day. He feels a tap to his knee and picks his head up. Claire’s reaching into the back seat to offer him another hit. He takes just one this time and then hands it back to her. The two girls continue talking and as he listens he comes to find out that Kaia is actually an orphan. Her parents died when she was an infant and since then she’s been in the care of her Aunt Drea.

Drea is a nurse who works the night shift. Apparently that’s why Kaia never seems to have to worry about a curfew.

“She’s just getting home from work when I get up for school. When I was little she always drove me, but now she just lets me take the car. But, I have to bring it back on time or she’ll be late for work.”

“I wish Jody and I had the kind of relationship that you guys do,” says Claire.

“Well, she’s not a mom,” explains Kaia. “We’ve always been a team. Right from the start. We cried over my mom together, went to counseling together, got through it together. Both of us had our lives ruined when my parents died, and now we just do the best we can to help each other through it. I used to wish that she wanted to at least _pretend_ to be my mom, but that was when I was a little kid. Now that I’m older, I’m glad that she didn’t try to be something she wasn’t. She never could’ve lived up to my expectations and I probably would’ve resented her for it anyway.”

“Yeah, that’s cool,” agrees Claire. “Jody’s pretty set on doin’ the whole ‘mom’ thing. She always has, but even if she actually was my real mom, she’d still have to let me grow up and that’s what she can’t seem to understand. I’m at an age where it’s time to start doing things for myself and thinking for myself and she just can’t seem to get on board with it.”

“Sounds like you and baby Jack-y need to switch parents, huh? He can let Jody cut his meat for him and read him bedtime stories, while his dad treats you like an adult.”

Hearing that said makes Jack wonder how often these girls have talked about him… Kaia seems to know an awful lot about his dynamic and not just with Claire but with his father too. It’s a bit disconcerting.

“It’s not a bad idea,” says Claire, their conversation up front moving on as he remains silent in back. Then she reaches between the front seats again and tickles his knee as she giggles, “or we get the two of them hitched, right Jack?”

He can’t help but smile at the thought. And with that idea planted in his head, Jack loses interest in their conversation altogether. He imagines a world where he and Claire are living together in his own house. Jody would be sharing a room with his dad, an idea that’s surprisingly appealing, and Claire would be in the room down the hall from his own. Currently it’s a guest room, decorated in neutral colors. The closet is stuffed full of things that don’t fit anywhere else - things like their ambitious collection of board games, stacks of picture albums, boxes of old toys and keepsakes.

But, if Claire lived in that room it wouldn’t be quiet and dull. The walls would be painted a striking color like purple or red or black and they would be covered with posters - The Pretty Reckless, Halestorm, Metric, The Breeders. It would be messy, too, books and papers strewn everywhere and piles of clothes in every corner. Even just thinking about her living in the room down the hall fills him with joy. He knows she’d wind up sneaking into his room late at night, package of cookies under her arm. They’d snuggle up and listen to music, talking until the wee hours of the morning and if she fell asleep in there, curled up against his side, all the better. It sounds like heaven.

The car starts to move and it rouses him, a lingering grogginess seeming to indicate that he’d actually fallen asleep for a while. A moment later cold air is billowing into the car as all four windows simultaneously roll down all the way.

“Freeze out!” shouts Kaia. Jack shudders as he grits his teeth. The bitter wind whips at him as the car picks up speed and the music is turned back up. Way up.

Claire is laughing in the front seat, her golden locks twisting and lashing as she tries in vain to hold them back from her face. Jack shoots her a questioning look and when she catches sight of it, she leans his way between the two front seats and shouts to be heard over the thumping music.

“Gotta air out the car,” she yells. “Can’t have anyone guessing what we do after school, right?”

He nods understanding, tolerating the cold and the noise. When they arrive at Claire’s, Kaia leans across to the passenger seat and the two sink into a kiss. He averts his eyes, turning his attention to getting out. He walks slowly towards the door, not looking back. On the porch, there’s nothing to do but wait. He just stands there awkwardly with his back to the driveway until he hears the car door slam. Turning then, he watches her walk up the sidewalk as Kaia reverses out of the driveway.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” she says breathily as she steps up onto the porch.

“No you’re not,” he teases gently, his mood turning around quickly now that it’s just the two of them.

Claire digs out her key and lets them inside. They head for the kitchen first. The scent of pot roast fills the air and as his friend starts ransacking the cupboards for a snack, Jack is staring at the crock pot. “That smells so good,” he says.

“You wanna stay for supper?”

“Yes, I do,” he admits wistfully, “but I can’t tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Dad’s expecting me home. He’s grilling tonight and he made a big deal about how it’s the last time for the season. After we eat we’re putting away the the patio furniture for winter.”

“Seems early,” she said, pulling a bag of Doritos down from the cupboard and heading out of the kitchen.

Following down the hall towards her room, Jack says, “It’s not that early. It’s almost Thanksgiving. There’ll be snow before you know it.”

“Oh, and since we’re seniors,” grins Claire as she flops down on her bed, “we don’t have to make up snow days. We could have the worst winter in history… more snow days than ever before… but the date for graduation is already set, so we’re done with school on that day no matter what. The rest of the school might have to keep making up snow days into June, but we’re off the hook.”

Sharing her enthusiasm as he arranges himself cross-legged on the bed with her, Jack reaches into the bag when she opens it and begins munching. “So really,” says Claire, leveling him with her intense eye contact, “how’s it going in b-ball?”

“Better than last year,” he answers honestly, glad she hadn’t pushed to discuss this further in front of Kaia. The fact that he has some social issues probably isn’t a secret to anyone with eyes and ears, but it had always been hard for him to gauge how much others really notice. Because of that he is reluctant to discuss such things in the company of anyone besides Claire. She is the one he trusts above all others - not just to keep his secrets, but to not judge him harshly. Claire has issues of her own when it comes to school and she too has always seemed to prefer keeping him as her only confidant. Though today he is beginning to suspect that Kaia has now become his equal in that department.

“How much have you told her about me?” he asks, watching her eyes carefully as he waits for her to reply.

“Who?”

“Taylor Swift,” he replies sarcastically. “Who do you think I mean? I’m asking about Kaia. She seems to know more about me than I’ve told her.”

“Well, you’re my best friend. The subject is bound to come up.”

“That’s fair. But I don’t trust her the way you do, so try to take it easy, okay?”

“I will. And I promise she doesn’t know any of the deep stuff.”

“The deep stuff?”

“Yeah, like how you took the pants off my Ken doll and licked between his legs. That kind of stuff.”

Laughter bursts from him as the memory resurfaces. “You dared me to do it,” he defends.

“Like that matters in the court of public opinion,” she teases. Then, tapping the side of her head with one finger, she adds, “I’ve got it all up here, Jack, and it’s enough to ruin you. So don’t you forget it.”

“Fair point,” he agrees. “I just know how easy it can be to start confiding in a person when they start to feel trustworthy. It kind of seems like you’re getting to that point with Kaia, you know?”

“I do know,” she admits freely, “and I _am_ getting to that point with her. But I promise that if she winds up making me sorry I’ve told her something… it will be something of mine and not yours okay?”

“Okay.”

“So. Back to b-ball. Is anyone fucking with you?”

He knows why she’s asking. He’s always fit in easily with the girls, it’s the boys who’ve presented problems for him. Relationships with other guys seem to be his Achilles heel. He used to think it was because he was gay but now he knows better. These days, he’s wondering if the issue is just his personality.

If he’s completely honest, Jack has to admit that he’s different from the other boys his age. It feels like he always has been. They are just wired differently, apparently. Compared to the rest of them, Jack knows that he’s softer. More empathetic. He’s very aware of other people's feelings and tends to care about them; be cautious of them. Also, he doesn’t care about the things that seem most important to them. That makes it hard to find a common ground; to relate.

There are a few other boys in school that seem to be similarly different, and they tend to be on the lower end of the social hierarchy. Mostly they’re the ones who get picked on. He’s been wondering for quite some time now whether they’re a target for bullying because they’re soft, or if they’re soft because they’ve been bullied. It seems like he could build a solid case for either side of the argument. At the end of the day, it’s a moot point because even when comparing himself to those most like him, Jack is still quite different.

Answering Claire’s question about basketball, Jack says, “No, nobody’s giving me a hard time. I just don’t, well, I don’t fit in with them. Doubt I ever will.”

“I know,” she says, eyes full of understanding. “But maybe that’s a good thing.”

“I don’t see how.”

“You’re better than them. They’re all dicks.”

On some level, he knows it’s true. She’s not just saying that to console him; she’s absolutely right. Most of them fuck over their friends on a regular basis. They don’t hesitate to put each other down, often ridiculing one another publicly. They also compete constantly… for popularity, for girls, for playing time, and even for bragging rights of the most inconsequential things.

It seems like most of them would fuck their best friend’s girlfriend if given the chance, take their starting position on the court if they could, or spread a rumor if doing so would be to their benefit.

But, the fact that Jack is more empathetic, and thus less likely to mistreat others, doesn’t seem to be the thing that really separates him from them. What keeps him from fitting in, he’s starting to believe, is more about sex.

This year Jack’s been thinking about it a lot and paying closer attention to what the boys around him are doing and saying. He’s really starting to see that sex is the primary motivator to almost everyone but him. The other guys talk of it constantly, discussions about anything else somehow always devolving to the subject of sex.

Jack has experienced sexual desire, but his mind isn’t plagued with it at all hours of the day and night. Additionally, he never seems to feel desire without a catalyst. For other boys there seems to be a constant desire for sex and in response to that desire, they seek out a willing partner. Often it doesn’t seem to even matter who the partner is… any reasonably attractive girl will do. But for Jack, the partner is the motivator. He doesn’t seek a partner for the purpose of having sex. In reality, he doesn’t seek one at all. But when he finds himself developing feelings for a person, that’s when desire comes into play. So far, it’s only happened one time. Devin.

His friendship with the boy had gotten strong quickly once they’d begun spending time together and as they’d grown increasingly comfortable in one another’s space, Jack had begun feeling inclined to touch and to let those touches linger, to hold hands, hug, and even kiss. It hadn’t taken long for him to realize that he might be gay. His father had been very helpful in coming to terms with being different and deciding how and when to come out. Devin had been understanding when Jack had confessed, but he hadn’t felt the same. Devin, sadly, was straight as an arrow.

Thankfully, his friend was accepting of him. His dad had warned him that being ‘just friends’ with someone he wanted more from might prove to be a challenge, but that hadn’t wound up being much of an issue. Jack had found himself content with things as they were. He didn’t have an overwhelming urge to push for more, even though more would’ve been good. As their friendship had solidified, Devin had soon become Dev.

When he’d moved away, it had been hard to adjust to life without him but Claire had helped a lot. To this day, Dev is the only love interest he’s ever had. Jack is pulled from his thoughts when the bed shifts. Claire is shoving the Doritos bag into his hands and he takes it as she hops up from the bed. “Where are you going?” he asks.

“My phone’s gonna die,” she answers, crossing the room to grab her backpack from its resting place on her desk chair. He continues munching on chips while watching her dig through the bag, fish out her charging cable, and plug it in.

“You good with the music?” she asks, poised with one hand on her phone.

When he nods a yes to her, his mouth too full to answer properly, and she returns to the bed without changing whatever playlist is currently streaming through it.

Once he’s swallowed, Jack says, “You know who’s been surprisingly nice to me at practice?”

“Who?”

“Wade.”

“Wade Bookman?”

“Yes.”

“He seems like a decent guy.”

“So far. I think next time he invites me over I’m going to say yes.”

“When did he invite you over?”

“A few days ago. He was leaving with Braelyn and asked if I wanted to come.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I mean, I guess I wanted to and was just surprised to be asked. Caught off guard like that, I didn’t really know what to say. I got flustered.”

“It happens,” she shrugs, delving back into the bag. It crinkles under hand as she digs to the bottom and extracts a hefty handful. “Man,” she sighs, “we pretty much killed the whole bag.”

“Why stop now,” he reasons, still munching.

  
  


                                                                          

  


With pork chops slow cooking on the grill, there isn’t much else to do in terms of dinner preparation. There are leftover scalloped potatoes reheating in the oven and the applesauce he’s planning to serve needs no preparation. So, Castiel decides to get started on the evening’s project while he waits.

Stepping out into the garage, he begins the process of changing seasons. After all these years, the process has become routine. He pulls out the plastic storage tubs that are labelled for winter and begins unpacking them. When the tubs are empty, he changes the labels from winter to summer and proceeds to pack away things like tiki torches, citronella candles, sunscreen, and bug spray. After spending a few minutes arranging the winter supplies on easy to reach shelves, he trades gardening tools and rakes to the back of the storage cabinet so that shovels and bags of ice melt can be pulled to the front. He packs an emergency kit into the trunk of his car, taking a mental inventory of the contents to be sure he’ll have everything that’s needed when the blizzards start to hit.

Surveying his progress with a critical eye, Cas decides he’s done all that he can until he’s got a second set of hands to help. That’s when Jack comes walking up the driveway.

“Perfect timing,” he declares, raising his voice to be heard through the open garage door.

“Hey dad,” Jack replies, eyes resting on the tubs of Christmas decorations that are lined up near the door to the house.

“How was school today?”

“Pretty good, I guess.”

“I thought you’d be home sooner since there was no practice today.”

“I went to Claire’s for a while.”

“Did you two get any homework done?”

“Not really. We were mostly talking and listening to music. How long til dinner?”

“Oh no,” he says aloud, suddenly remembering that he’s had meat cooking all this time. Darting back through the house, he catches sight of the grill through the patio doors and it’s smoking heavily. Jack is right on his heels as he jogs past the kitchen and dining area, hurrying out into the backyard despite his hunch that he’s already too late.

When he lifts the lid of the grill, thick black smoke billows out. As it clears he surveys the damage and slumps in defeat. The four chops he’d trimmed and marinated are dry and shriveled on their good side and burnt black on the other.

“Wow,” breathes Jack from over his shoulder. “What a bummer.”

With a resigned sigh, Castiel bends down to turn off the gas. It’s irritating to have the last cookout of the season wind up like this and he’s kicking himself for not paying better attention. Trying to hide his irritation from his son, Cas forces the scowl from his face as he returns to standing. Smiling at Jack, he makes a suggestion that he’s certain will be well received. “Why don’t you go on inside and order us a pizza? I’ll get this mess cleaned up.”

“What should I order?”

“Whatever you’d like,” he answers, fishing a credit card out of his wallet and handing it over.

Jack thanks him with a wide smile and turns towards the house. With his son gone inside, Cas turns his attention to the task at hand. He disposes of the meat and uses the steel brush to clear the cooking grate and then leaves the lid open so it will cool down.

“They said it’ll be forty minutes,” says Jack when he returns.

“Well then, I suppose we may as well do what I set out to do tonight. Give me a hand?”

“Sure,” Jack agrees, handing the Visa card back to him. The two begin with the patio set, picking up the heavy swivel chairs one at a time and carrying them around the side of the house and into the garage through the open door. They lift the table together, each taking one end of it, and cautiously navigate between the vehicles so they can lean it against the back wall of the garage. With that done, they line the chairs up in front of it. Lastly they roll the grill around and push it into the far corner. Closing the garage door, father and son take one last look around before heading back into the house.

“Can we eat in front of the TV?” asks Jack.

“Sure,” he answers, heading for the patio doors. The sun is going down and the backyard looks empty now. Uninviting. He pulls the cord to close the blinds, still a bit irritated that juicy grilled pork chops have become greasy pizza. But, if he’s honest, Cas has to admit that a relaxing dinner on the couch while watching television actually sounds pretty good right now. He takes a seat on the couch and tosses his son the remote. “Find us something good to watch?”

Jack flops down, tucking his legs up under himself as he flips to the menu.

Once the pizza’s been delivered, they hunker down to enjoy it.

Prompted by the show they’re watching, Jack asks him about his college days over the commercial break. Specifically, he wants to know if his father was ever arrested. Confirming that he has been, Castiel accepts his son’s whooping and laughter as tactfully as he can and then explains that he’d been picked up by the police for driving on a suspended license and that he’d had to spend the night in jail. One question leads to another as Jack, seemingly intrigued, moves their conversation along from that specific incident to several other college-age experiences that he’s never shared with the boy before.

Every question he answers winds up drawing two more from his son, and soon they’ve abandoned all pretenses of watching television. They discuss everything from his first car to his first love, and share hardy laughter as Cas regales his son with stories of mistakes he’s made and lessons he’s learned.  

As they talk, Cas isn’t checking the time. He isn’t asking about homework, and he certainly isn’t cleaning up their mess. Instead, he’s enjoying this moment. He knows it’s precious. Jack’s paying no attention to his phone at all, fully invested in their conversation. Castiel rewards his son’s curiosity and undivided attention by giving him far more personal information than he ever has before. He doesn’t mince words either. He gives straight answers. Honest answers. Well, mostly.

When asked about his first crush, his first love, and his first time having sex with a girl, he’d held nothing back. But, when the discussion arrives at Meg Masters, Castiel begins to choose his words carefully.

He admits to having been relatively inexperienced upon meeting her, though no longer a virgin.

“Let’s just say that she was far wiser in the ways of the world than I was,” he says of her. Then, with a chuckle, he adds, “She gave me a crash course in human sexuality.”

“How so?” his son asks eagerly. “Like, what did she teach you?”

“Well, Jack, I’m not sure how much you really want to know about your old man, but it could probably be summed up by saying that she introduced me to several different forms of sexual expression.”

“Which kinds?” his son asks, grinning as he presses for details.

Letting out a long sigh as he kicks his feet up onto the coffee table, Cas decides to indulge the boy with answers to his questions and just watch carefully for clues that he might be over-sharing. “Well, she taught me a great deal about sex in general,” he says. “I was a bit sheltered, you see. And when we’d been together for a while, she introduced me to sexual games.”

“Games? What kind of games?”

“Oh, it was just little things at first, like telling each other our fantasies, and that eventually led to us trying some of them out.” It’s not easy to do, but Cas manages to keep his voice even and give direct answers to the questions his son asks. Thinking that it’s best for Jack not to know, he completely omits the way Meg had seduced him into the world of voyeurism, multiple partners, and staged scenes. Instead he simply says that she’d introduced him to rougher sex and pain play, which isn’t a lie, and he then closes the subject by saying, “Eventually, it became clear to me that we weren’t going to be compatible in the long run. Her interests were simply more exotic than my own.”

To pretend that he hadn’t enjoyed the journey he’d taken with her was definitely a stretch of the truth. The things they’d done together had been quite enjoyable, as were the things he’d watched her do, and the things he’d watched others do. Additionally, when she’d opened the door to multiple partners and orgies, he’d jumped in with both feet.

But, he’d been truthful in saying that her interests were more exotic than his own. It may have been scintillating to engage in group sex - and even more indulgent to blatantly fuck other people but, even back then, Cas had known himself well enough to understand that he wasn’t capable of continuing in that dynamic for the long term. He’d never be able to trade traditional monogamy for the kind of loose and promiscuous relationship that she had seemed to enjoy and towards the end of his time with her, he’d started to see that she was simply too masochistic for him. When he’d ended things with her, he’d done it knowing that if they stayed together much longer, she’d probably start to really scare him.

“What happened after Meg? Is that when you met my mother?”

Ugh. It’s been almost two decades since he lost Kelly and still, it hurts to think of her. “No,” he answers, trying to recover, “That was when I first tried dating a man.”

“Really? Who was it? What was he like?”

“His name was Balthazar, but everyone called him Zar.”

“Wait. This isn’t the same Zar that used to come visit when I was little is it?”

“The same,” nods Cas with a soft smile.

“Wow, you used to date Uncle Zar.”

“He’s not really your uncle,” Cas clarifies. “You just called him that when you were little.”

“I can’t believe it,” whispers Jack, “I mean, it never even occurred to me that you guys might’ve been lovers.”

“We were never lovers in your lifetime, Jack.”

“Okay, but it’s still kind of weird. I mean, I remember him coming to visit. He always brought me presents and he talked to me like I was a grown up. You guys used to stay up late, drinking wine and talking even after I’d gone to bed… and… well, now that I think about it, I guess I should’ve known.”

“You were so young back then.”

“Why doesn’t he visit anymore? Did you guys have a falling out?”

“No, it’s just been a long time since our paths crossed. He’s rarely in the states anymore.”

Pausing or a moment, Jack appears to give the matter a bit more thought before asking, “What was he like back then? What was it like to date him?”

“It was wonderful,” smiles Cas, his mind slipping back to those days. “His British accent drove me wild. He was handsome and charismatic. Flirtatious.” Then, chuckling to himself he adds, “Handsy.”

“What even made you decide to go from girls to guys… what made you want to try dating a man?”

“Well, he asked me out.”

“That’s it? You’d never considered it before and then one guy asked you out on a date and you just decided to go for it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’d never considered it before,” he admits. In reality, his foray into orgies with Meg had been his chance to indulge a lifelong fantasy to try sex with men. He’d eagerly embraced the experience when given the chance, welcoming masculine hands when they reached out to touch his naked body. His own hands had reached out too, groping excitedly over thick muscles and beard stubble. He’ll never forget the way his body had reacted the first time. Just breathing in the scent of that man’s neck… he’d nearly come right then. And, the first time he’d taken a dick into his mouth, Cas had known he was home.

Zar may have been his first official date with a man, but he was far from having been Cas’s first sexual experience with one. Of course, admitting so much to Jack would do nothing to help the boy, and those details were so personal and so risque that he kept them to himself and only continued by saying, “Things were different back in those days, Jack. Back then, a homosexual relationship that was publicly acknowledged was subject to intense scrutiny and ridicule. Violence wasn’t uncommon and the victims of hate crimes rarely received any protection from the police or court system.”

“So you’d thought about men, but never acted on the impulse because of the possible consequences?”

“Yes,” he answers, considering his omissions and white lies to be necessary.

“And what was it like dating a man for the first time?”

“Liberating,” he says with a smile. And then, to be honest, he adds, “Frightening. For all the reasons I just mentioned and more.”

“How long were you guys together?”

“Almost a year.”

“So you slept with him then? He was your ‘first time’?”

“In terms of being on the receiving end of actual penetrative sex, yes, he was my first.” And there it is… the line he’d been trying not to cross. The look on his son’s face as he said the word ‘penetrative’ brought Cas to a stop. He’d given too much information and grossed the poor kid out.

Shifting his weight and rearranging his legs, Castiel stays quiet and waits for his son to speak again. At this point he’s thinking it’s best to allow Jack to control where their conversation goes from here. If the boy has any questions about gay sex, he might be trying to summon the nerve to ask them. Or, if he just wants to change the subject, Cas wants to give him a chance to do it.

“What happened?” Jack finally asks. “Why did you guys break up?”

“Well, as I mentioned, things were different back then. Because society was so intolerant and oppressive, gay men were encouraging one another to live and love with freedom. Monogamy was for straight people, they said. It was the straight people who got married and had children. Gay people weren’t allowed to live like that. We were barred from military service, public service, most churches, and most jobs. Hell, being openly gay made it hard to even rent an apartment. The one benefit gay men could revel in was promiscuity. And for his part, Zar fully embraced that aspect of the culture.”

“So you guys broke up because he wanted to see other people?”

“I suppose we could say that, but I think it’s probably truer to say that we were never really a couple in the traditional sense of the word. I mean, not by today’s standards anyway. Neither of us was ever under the impression that we were seeing one another exclusively.

“I see,” says Jack thoughtfully, his brow knitted tightly and his eyes glazed over as if trying to picture it in his mind.

Knowing that the next part of their talk will be painful for him, Cas steels himself in preparation and then instead of waiting for his son to ask the inevitable question, he rips the metaphorical bandaid off by plowing ahead. Smiling as best he can, Cas lays a hand on his son’s shoulder and says, “That next semester, I met your mother.”

The smile that spreads over Jack’s face is like sunshine breaking from between clouds. “She was an incredible woman,” continues Cas, “and I fell in love with her right away.” He goes on to tell the story of how they met and Jack seems enthralled, literally hanging on every word despite having previously heard bits and pieces of this story before.

“She had political aspirations,” reminds Cas, “and everyone was urging her to give you up so that she could finish school and live her dream. But she wouldn’t even consider it. From the very beginning she wanted to keep you and raise you and she didn’t care what had to be sacrificed. So, I encouraged her to step back from school while she carried you and to stay home to raise you for a while until I was finished with school. My promise to her was that when I’d graduated, I would open an accounting service that could be run out of our home. I’d work from there and take over as your primary caregiver so that she could return to school.

“She was willing to do that, Jack. She was willing to put her entire life on hold for you. Strangely enough, she was also willing to put her faith in me… to believe that when the time came, I’d keep my word… to trust me with her future, and yours.”

Initially, he’d paused to let all that sink in. But, continuing wasn’t easy and the silence stretched out awkwardly as he tried to force the next words out. Finally they came, pushed up through a tight throat, “Her death was sudden.”

With tears clouding his eyes and threatening to spill over, Cas continues the best he can. “She had almost a year with you, and was she was so happy, so very happy. Jack, you don’t know how often I’ve wished that you had some memories of her.”

The tears are falling now, which he’d hated at first, but at least his eyes are less blurry now. Looking up to meet eyes with his son, Cas sees that he’s not the only one with tear tracks on his face. Jack is wiping his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt and does the same.

“She had a congenital heart defect, you see, we just never knew. The doctors told me after she was gone.” This isn’t news to his son, he knows, but for some reason the words just roll out. Every time the subject had come up over the years, especially when Jack was small, he’d always made sure that the boy understood that his birth had not been a contributing factor in his mother's death. “It was something she was born with,” he reminds his son again now, “a condition that had gone undiagnosed, and it would have claimed her life even if she’d never gotten pregnant.”

“It’s not fair,” complains his son feebly, slumping over onto him.  Immediately Cas adjusts himself to cradle the young man to his side.

“I know,” he whispers softly, “I know.” It doesn’t matter how tall he’s grown or how much he’s starting to resemble a man these days. In this moment, Jack is a fragile little boy who will forever carry this sadness and loss with him. “I get so angry when I think about it,” Castiel admits, “she would’ve done so much good in the world. I’d like to know what cosmic force weighed her existence against so many darker souls and decided to take hers instead of theirs - or even mine. You both deserved more time together and you’re right, son, it just isn’t fair.”

“Aren’t you lonely?” Jack asks, finally lifting his head to look at him. “I know you miss her, but it’s been so long - why haven’t you ever tried to meet someone?”

Taking a deep breath and letting it go, he tries to relax as he explains. “If I thought there was a way to fill the hole she’d left in my life, in our lives, I would’ve done it. You understand that, right?”

“But maybe things would’ve been better for both of us if-

“Jack,” he interrupts firmly, “I understand what you mean, but there are some voids that simply can’t be filled. I mean, even if I found someone that suited me, someone that I thought I could be happy with, what would they be to you?” He pauses for a moment, giving his son some time to ponder the question before moving on. “Think about it, would having someone else in our house really fill the void for you? Do you think that you’d somehow miss your mother any less if you had a stepmother?”

“Or stepfather,” teases Jack, a crooked little half-smile playing at his lips. It’s a sign that he’s rebounding and Cas finds strength in it. He even chuckles awkwardly as he uses the sleeves of his shirt to wipe visible tear tracks from his son’s face and then his own.

“I guess you’re right,” Jack admits, sagging against the back of the couch. “Even if you had remarried years ago, and even if they’d been awesome, they wouldn’t have been able to replace her. I’d still feel like part of me is missing - I’d still be mad that she’s gone.”

“She had big plans for you Jack,” says Castiel, trying to smile. “If she’d lived, I bet you’d be exhausted trying to keep up.”

Jack huffs a soft chuckle in response. “I bet she’d be proud of you too,” he says.

“Thank you for saying that, Jack. I’ve always tried to keep her in mind as I was raising you… to do things the way she would’ve wanted… to honor her memory by cultivating her in you as much as possible. I even took her name when she died.”

“What do you mean by ‘took her name’?”

“I mean, I went to the courthouse and legally changed my last name to hers. The family I grew up in wasn’t very stable. I had an absent father and a domineering mother who ruled our home with a bible and an iron fist. My brothers and I all rebelled in our own ways, and during the time when I was with your mother, none of us were even speaking. I didn’t want their influence tainting the person you would become, so while you were still just a bump in her belly, I cut ties with all of them. I signed over all legal rights to my family estate and took Kelly’s last name as my own.”

“Wow,” murmurs Jack, “I had no idea. I mean, you never really said anything about-

“I had my reasons for keeping these things from you. Even now, I don’t think it will do you any good to know the details. But, I will tell you that, as of now, I’ve got one brother dead and another missing. The third is serving life in prison. My sister is nothing but a clone of our mother and she’s terrifying. Truly.”

“One of your brothers is missing?”

“Yes, missing. His name is Gabriel. Actually, I reconnected with him a few years back. Do you remember when I went to New York?”

“I think so,” Jack nods, “For a conference or something, right?”

“Yes. There was a conference that week, but I didn’t really attend. That was just the excuse I used for making the trip. The real reason I went to New York was to see my brother. Gabe was the only sibling I ever really liked or felt close to. You probably would’ve liked him too. He’s funny and indulgent. If he had known you, he would’ve spoiled you.”

“What happened in New York?”

“Not much. We got together and had dinner. We talked. He needed to borrow some money so I lent it to him. When we left the restaurant, he insisted that we go for drinks and took me to a club.”

“I can’t picture you in a club.”

“Good. No one should be able to picture their father in a club. Not a good father, anyway.”

“So, what happened next?”

“Nothing worth mentioning. But, let’s just say that his behavior that night was a solid reassurance that I’d done the right thing by keeping you away from him. Also, when I saw the people he was associating with, I knew I was unlikely to ever be repaid what I’d lent him.”

“That was a long time ago… did he ever pay you back?”

“No.”

“How much?”

“Jack, I don’t think that-

“Please? I want to know, Dad. How much?”

“You don’t need to know the dollar amount. But, I will tell you that it was almost half of my retirement account at the time.”

“Oh, Dad,” he says, his eyes empathetic.

“It’s alright, son. At this point, I’d pay that same amount over again just to know he’s still alive. My brothers are dicks. All three of them. But, Gabe was always special. He’s the only one I was ever interested in reconnecting with.”

“So, when’s the last time you heard from him?”

“I never heard from him again after that night in New York. But, about two years ago some agents came to our door. They were looking for him and wanted information. That’s how I found out he was missing. I told them everything I knew, but that wasn’t much. I asked them to keep me updated but I’ve never heard from them since. I occasionally check for updates online, and as of now he’s still listed as a missing person.”

“Do you have any idea what happened to him?”

“No. And I try not to think about it.”

“So, you took my mom’s name as your own and cut all ties with your family to raise me by yourself.”

“I did.”

“Wait. Are we hiding here? Is that why you changed our last name and raised me in the middle of nowhere?”

“No,” Castiel laughs, “we’re not hiding. We’re a bit isolated geographically, but that’s just coincidental. You see, when I finally finished school and it was time to start my business, I chose to come to this area because your mother had family around here. Looking back on it now, I can see that I was reaching out for any possible connection to her. But at the time, I was just thinking that it was best for you to grow up with family around. I wanted you to have Grandparents nearby to make memories with. Not only was I a single father at the time, but I had no family to speak of. Without them, you and I would have truly been alone.

“So, in preparing to open my accounting service, I researched the neighboring towns to try and choose the one that I felt would best support the kind of business I’d be running. There were a few that had potential and I visited each. Eventually I picked this one simply because I liked it. It’s charming. You’ve never lived anywhere else, so you don’t know how good you have it here. But, I do. This is a very nice place to live, Jack. It’s the kind of place Kelly would’ve chosen. Even if her career had taken her to one of the capitals or even D.C., I’m sure she would’ve wanted to have a home in a town just like this one. This is the kind of place she would’ve wanted to raise our child in, even if she had to exhaust herself traveling back and forth to work in order to make it happen.”  

“So, my grandparents used to live around here?”

“Yes, a few towns over. When you were a toddler, they helped me a great deal. They often watched you while I worked. They taught me how to cook and even helped me through some of the more challenging aspects of raising a child, like, toilet training.”

Leaning into his son affectionately, Castiel nudges the young man and gives him a wink, “You were slow to learn in that area,” he teases. “You were almost four and still pooping your pants all the time. I was at my wits end.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” Jack grins. “And I remember wetting the bed all the time.”

“Ah yes, up until seventh grade.”

“You know, I remember having everyone around for birthday parties and stuff… Grandma and Grandpa took me to the fair once. I never really thought about it until now, I just figured they’d flown in for a visit or something.”

“Well, some of those memories are probably from when they lived around here. But when they retired they moved to the coast, which had always been their dream. Even after they’d moved, they still came to visit regularly when you were younger. But as you got older, they started just sending you plane tickets to come and see them instead. As you know, they’re getting much older now and the traveling is harder on them than it used to be. Back in the early days, your aunt and uncle used to live around here too.”

“Uncle Don and Aunt Pat? Really? When did they move away?”

“Not long after we moved in, actually. Don’s company gave him a huge promotion, but they had to relocate to Arizona.”

“Dad, thanks for telling me all of this.”

“Well, you’re growing up. I think it’s appropriate for you to know more now.”

“I try not to ask too much about, well, about her. I know it’s hard for you to talk about my mom.”

“It is. But, how will you ever know how wonderful she was if I don’t tell you?”

Jack’s smile turns a bit self conscious and he averts his eyes as he whispers, “I love how much you still love her.”

“I wish you’d had the chance to know her, son.”

“Me too. But, Dad, I meant what I said before. You’ve done a great job. I mean, I don’t think you could’ve done a better job taking care of me. You’re a really good dad.”

Leaning in to accept the hug being offered with those words, Cas closes his eyes to savor the moment. There’s always been a part of him that wished he’d been the one to die instead of Kelly. He imagines that she would’ve done a much better job without him than he’s been doing without her. In light of that, it’s achingly sweet to hear words of encouragement from his boy.

In fact, as he holds his son, he’s trying his damnedest to honestly promise himself that he’s done creeping on the boy’s teacher. Sadly, he just can’t fully commit to it. Any promise he makes now would be hollow because he already knows that he’ll break it.

The pull towards Mr. Winchester is far too strong.

So far, his cautious and methodical nature has kept him from being caught spying. Since he’s never been caught, his dark deeds have never affected his son. At this point, that’s all he’s really hoping for… just to avoid being caught a little bit longer… because he knows he can’t change. But, if he can just make it through the duration of this one last school year unscathed, then he can send the boy off to college untainted by his own perversions.

With their heart-to-heart still fresh in his mind, Cas goes to bed that night trying not to think about Mr. Winchester. He fails spectacularly.

Eventually, he gives up on trying to fight it. He turns the television up to cover any errant noises he might make and then he fucks the shit out of his fleshlight. Biting his lip to stay quiet, he humps the thing viciously into his mattress as he pictures Mr. Winchester on all fours beneath him.

Now that he’s seen the man taking a dildo, Cas knows he’s at least inclined in that direction. He can easily picture desperation on the man’s face as he looks over his shoulder while being ravaged, his affinity for curse words coloring his language as he demands Castiel work harder, go deeper, and never stop.

After he’s come, Cas lies there for quite a while. It’s uncharacteristic of him. Usually he gets up almost immediately to clean his toys and put them away; but not tonight. Oblivious to the mess cooling under him, he lingers in warm fuzzy thoughts. He imagines his body folded around his favorite teacher, both of them satisfied and too worn out to move. Sticky and sweaty, they’d lie contentedly together afterwards, and Castiel would savor every moment.

In the morning he wakes to his alarm clock as usual, but is disgusted to find that he’s slept in a mess. His fleshlight is full of sticky, dried jizz and the oily lube he’d used. As he’d rolled in his sleep, his body had spread the mess all over his sheets too. There are dark, greasy spots everywhere. Irritated with himself, Cas hurriedly begins cleaning up. He strips the bed and remakes it, rushing so that his morning routine won’t be impacted much.

At the bathroom sink, he tries to clean the residue from his favorite toy and all the while he’s irritated with himself for not doing this last night when it would’ve been easier.

Downstairs in the kitchen, he moves faster than usual because he’s running a bit behind. While Jack is up in his room getting dressed for school, Castiel is making breakfast. He’s at the stove scrambling eggs and internally he’s berating himself for his inappropriate crush and habitual spying. Then, the strangest thought occurs to him. He wonders if maybe Kelly had a secret like his. Was there a deviance hiding beneath her perfectly buttoned exterior? If she’d lived long enough to settle in this town with him, would he have one day inadvertently discovered that she secretly enjoyed clown porn? That she harbored fantasies of being pulled inside a striped tent to be tag teamed by a couple of whimsical red-nosed men in comically oversized shoes? The thought brings laughter bubbling up in his chest and then his mind is off to the races. He’s flooded with cartoonishly funny images of her getting excited by them honking their toy horns and wanting to be squirted by a lapel flower when she came.

Still chuckling to himself, he covers the eggs and begins making toast. While he waits for the first two slices, he makes his usual morning tea. Pulling the butter from the fridge and his favorite honey from the cupboard, he claims the first round of toast for himself. Popping two more slices into the toaster, he butters his own and drizzles the cinnamon wildflower honey over it. Adding a bit to his tea as well, he then licks his sticky fingers and takes a few bites as he tries to imagine what realistic secret desires Kelly may have been keeping from him back when they were a couple. This line of thinking is very cathartic and he smiles as he admits to himself for the first time that no human being is as perfect as he’s remembering her to have been.

Yes, she was incredible. She was virtuous and driven and smart and capable of doing great things. But she was also human and inherently flawed. He’d simply not known her deeper, darker secrets yet. Accepting this reality is surprisingly reassuring. Castiel now easily trades his intense brooding for mentally organizing his day as he butters the next round of toast. Still a bit hurried, he doesn’t linger over his own breakfast, but rather snitches bites of it between tasks as he moves around in the kitchen. When everything is ready, he calls upstairs to his son that it's time to eat.

 

                                                                           

 

Today is the worst kind of Monday for a teacher - it’s the Monday before a holiday break. This Thursday is Thanksgiving and, after tomorrow, there will be no more school until next week. The students know a vacation is coming and they’re restless. Rowdy.

PE classes are fine, but having to deal with the kids in a classroom environment is a whole different ball game. Health class is the second to last hour of the day and as the kids enter to take their seats, he can practically feel the energy rolling off of them in waves.

He rises from behind the antiquated desk to pass out the weekly unit quiz. The room quiets down as the students begin working, but there’s still an undercurrent off electricity buzzing in the air. The kids shift and fidget in their chairs like they’ve got ants in their pants.

Technically, he’s ahead in the lesson plan so he won’t have to feel guilty if they don’t make any progress today. With that thought in mind, Dean makes a decision. Rather than fight their excess energy and try to keep them focused on a topic, Dean decides to indulge them with an activity.

Heading to the supply cabinets at the back of the room, Dean digs around until he’s found everything he needs, including a lidded plastic bucket that had once held a gallon of store-brand ice cream. Whoever had used this container before him had cut a square out of the lid, perhaps using it as a makeshift ballot box. It’s perfect.

As the kids began walking up to turn in their quizzes, Dean is using a pair of scissors to cut sheets of paper into four quarters. By the time everyone has finished, the room is humming with low conversation, whispers, and hushed giggles.

Ready to begin, Dean strides to the front row of desks, dropping a stack of quartered paper onto each desk in the front row. “Each off you take a couple pieces and pass the rest back,” he tells them.

Then, holding the bucket with a slot cut into it’s lid, Dean comes to a stop front and center in the room. “Okay,” he says, looking pointedly at those who don’t quiet down when he speaks. “Since this is our last class before Thanksgiving break, we’re gonna do something different.”

A collective cheer breaks out from the obnoxious group in the back and he doesn’t even bother to quiet them. Instead he continues on as if there had been no interruption. “Now, this class is meant to cover a broad span of topics relating to our overall health and well being. But, you can only fit so much into a text book. So, there’s bound to be some holes… some unanswered questions. When I was your age I had tons of them.

“Back when I was in high school, the internet was brand new and people were just starting to figure out what it was. It wasn’t something that most people used as part of their daily lives. Nobody had phones in their pockets back then and there was no such thing as google. If we had to do a report for school, or if we had a question that we were too embarrassed to ask, we had to actually go to the library and look up that topic in the card catalog, choose a few books that we thought might contain the information we needed, and then hunt down those books out on the shelves. I bet you can all guess how much time I spent in the library every week, right?”

The faces staring up at him break into grins, and a few even laugh aloud. Seeing that they are listening, he continues. “So, needless to say, a lot my questions went unanswered into adulthood. But things are different now. You guys can google the answer to any question at any time, right from your phone. You’ve got a wealth of knowledge at your fingertips 24/7. But, if you’ve got a question, it’s not always easy to sort through all the information that your search turns up. Lots off times the information we find is inaccurate too. There are a ton of websites that answer questions with opinions rather than facts, while others even purposefully spread misinformation. So, what we’re going to do today is try and get some questions competently answered.

“So, everyone just take a sec and think about the things you’re not sure about, the things you’re curious about, and the questions you’d most like to have answered. You’ll use the papers I passed out to write them down anonymously. Then, fold them up so no one sees what you’ve written and when I pass the bucket around, just drop your question into it.

“I’m going to sit down and go through the bucket, right here in class, and answer your questions to the best off my ability. I promise to give you honest answers with no B.S.”

Hearing that, the class breaks into hushed whispers and as he looks around, Dean can see lots of faces reflecting a keen interest in participating. Some kids already have their heads bent down to write. “The first time I come around,” he adds, “just put in one question. Pick the one you most want an answer to. If we get through all the questions and still have some time left, I’ll come around again and everyone can put a second question into the bucket. We’ll continue like that until we’re either out of questions or out of time.”

An afterthought pops into his mind then, and Dean steps to the whiteboard at the front of the room. Picking up a marker, he makes a header at the top that says, ‘Unanswered Questions’. Over his shoulder he says to the class, “If there are any questions that I can’t answer, we’ll put them on the board. That way we can do some research as a class to find the answer.”

Feeling good about this impromptu activity, Dean begins moving down the rows, holding out the bucket or each student. Most of them have folded their papers down to tiny little squares and as he watches how carefully those are dropped into the bucket, Dean realizes that for a lot of these kids, his promise of anonymity had been crucial.

When he’s been around the room, he heads back to the front. Seating himself behind the huge wooden desk again, Dean pops the lid off and pulls out the first question.

“Wow,” he says to the room, “I guess we’re starting off with a bang.”

Nervous laughter permeates the room and all eyes are fixed on him. “I’m going to read each question word-for-word because I don’t want to make any assumptions. If I need any help deciphering slang, I’ll just ask. Okay, so, the first question. “If I do my girlfriend up the butt, what color will my dick be when I pull it out, brown or red?”

He works hard to keep a straight face as the students lose their shit. Howls of laughter and obnoxious comments fill the air and Dean stands up from his chair to address the issue. “Hey, hey, hey,” he shouts, “if we’re gonna keep doing this, you guys have got to keep a lid on it. I mean, I don’t need other teachers hearing all this racket and getting curious about what we’re doin’ in here, okay?”

Immediately the room falls silent again. “Besides,” he adds, “the whole idea behind this little game is to keep people from feeling embarrassed by their questions. When we react like you guys just did, we’re shaming that person for their question. Let’s try to be respectful to each other okay?”

Heads nod and, once again, all eyes rest on him. They’re waiting for his answer.

“The truth is, it could be either. In reality, anal sex isn’t portrayed very accurately in porn and that gives people a lot of unrealistic expectations. First and foremost, I’ll tell you this… if the idea of pulling out a brown dick is gross to you - then don’t stick it in there. Period. Anal sex can be messy. In fact, most sex is messy in one way or another. But, I will give you guys some pointers because the first go-round of that can head south real quick. First and foremost, go slow. Second, use lots and lots of lube. Start out planning to use way too much lube… and then use twice that much.

“If a dick comes out red, it’s because there’s been tearing and the best way to avoid tearing is lube. Now, in porno, the person being penetrated has usually been douched or given an enema. That’s why the dick comes out clean no matter how long and hard they go at it. Outside of porn which - I repeat, isn’t real - we should expect all sex, especially anal sex, to be messy.”

It isn’t easy to speak so bluntly to these kids after spending so much time trying to watch his mouth. But he’s trying to be direct and give the answers in a non-clinical way. He wants this to be real for them and based on the looks he’s getting right now, he’s been successful so far. Following his normal teaching patterns, Dean’s instinct is to end by saying, “Anyone have any questions?” But, no. He’s not about to open up that can of worms.

Once more seating himself behind the desk, he flips over the lid to his bucket and begins using that as the discard pile for the questions he’s finished. When the activity is over, he plans to dispose of them off campus so that there’s no chance of anyone finding these questions in the trash. He’d hate for someone’s question to be identified based on handwriting. That would break the trust he’s establishing by offering anonymity.

“Next question,” he reads in a clear voice, “If I agree to have sex with someone and then change my mind, at what point is it too late to stop?”

Dean takes a deep breath and looks out at the kids. “That question has a one word answer and that answer is NEVER. I want all of you to listen the hell up. A person, any person, male or female, should be able to change their mind at any time. If a person tries to stop you halfway through, or even two pumps from done, and you don’t immediately stop when they say to, then you are a rapist. Everybody crystal clear on that one? No means no and there are no exceptions.”

Before moving on to the next question, Dean looks up and adds, “Do I need to say that once more for the the folks in the back? Or do we all understand?”

“We got it, Coach,” says Stevens, the guys around him nodding along.

“Good. Now, next question. “How long do I have to pump before I can come and feel like I’ve done a good job?” Dean grins. “Just in case clarification is needed, the word come is spelled c-u-m. So, this person seems to be asking how long they have to hold out to be considered a good lover.

“I have to tell you guys, that’s an age old question. And, it’s strictly a matter of opinion. So, the best I can do is just give you my own personal opinion and leave it at that. Let me preface this by saying, if you’re looking at your watch when you have sex with someone, then you’re a tool. Now, in my opinion, a person’s sexual skill level has nothing to do with time. I think it’s more about technique. I can’t offer any advice from a female point of view.  But, from the male point of view I can say this: start slow. Build slow. The faster you build up speed, the less likely it is that your partner can keep pace with you.

“As guys, if we just barrel in there and start pounding, we’re not really giving the other person much to respond to. Think of it like this,” he says, using his hands to act out his scenario, “If I’m giving someone a back massage, do I start out like this? Do I just dig in with everything I’ve got? Or do I start out soft and smooth, work my way around to be sure I’ve hit every muscle, and then gradually increase pressure as I go? It’s simple when we think about it like that, right? Well, sex is no different. We’re getting together to make each other feel good. Start small. Test the waters. See what the other person responds to. The idea is to ease into it until you’re sure of what works and what doesn’t for the other person.

“You’ll know what’s working because they’ll encourage you. They’ll make little noises, they’ll start to breathe more heavily, sometimes their eyes will close. As you both start to build together, speed and power increase and you’ll start to see bigger approval signs like twitching stomach muscles or a leg shaking, a back arching.

“But, if your eyes are clenched shut and you’re just thrusting hard and fast, how are you going to be watching for those pleasure signs? How will you know if the other person is having as much fun as you are? The answer is - you won't. And if you’re not paying attention to the other person, then you’re a lousy lay no matter how long you make it last. Keep in mind, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

Dean answers question after question and each time he pulls another from the bucket, he’s further convinced that this activity has substantial value. Most of the questions he’s getting are directly related to sexual intercourse, STD’s and pregnancy. Some are so comical that he has trouble reading them with a straight face. Others reflect a stunningly low comprehension of how the human body works. He does all he can to fill in the blanks for these kids as he goes. Sadly, Dean actually has to dispel some misconceptions of what’s even anatomically possible. Clearly there’s some cartoon porn watchers in this class. At one point he was stunned to receive a question that was directly to him. “Mr. W, what’s your favorite dessert to lick off of somebody in bed?”

He joins the class in heavy laughter as he formulates his answer. His cheeks are burning so he’s pretty sure that he’s blushing hard. “My favorite dessert,” he manages to answer, “is cherry pie. No contest. But honestly, I’ve never been one for bringing food into the bedroom. Like I’ve said, sex is messy. And if I’m gonna eat, I’d rather just eat from a plate.”

 

                                                               

 

Jack is just as stunned as everyone else that day, when Health Class takes a turn for the wildly unpredictable. The Coach offering to provide an answer to literally ANY question has everyone in the room enthralled, Jack most of all, because there’s a huge question that’s been knocking around in his head for far too long now. Today must be his lucky day.

He rolls his pencil between two fingers and contemplates how to phrase his question while Mr. Winchester stands at the head of the class and explains to them how this exercise will play out.

Jack’s primary concern is his anonymity. He doesn’t want anyone to suspect which question is his, especially Mr. Winchester. That means he’ll need to disguise both his handwriting and the actual wording of his question.

When he puts his pencil to the paper, Jack forgoes his normal penmanship, which is uniform and precise, in favor of a sloppy scrawl. He also phrases his question in such a way that the it’ll seem attributable to one of the dumbish guys that always sits in a cluster near the back of the room. He smiles when he’s finished, the question reading, “Hey Coach - do you ever do dudes?”

He folds it up quickly before anyone has a chance to catch a glimpse of it and a minute later, Mr. Winchester steps up to him with the bucket.

Depositing his question through the slot, Jack sits back to wait. It’s not surprising that most of the questions revolve around sex. Mr. Winchester answers them with as much tact as can be expected considering the topics, and Jack is impressed with the way his teacher doesn't just answer the questions, but also adds helpful advice too.

He also finds it reassuring that he wasn’t the only one to submit a question directly to Mr. Winchester. The Coach had burst out laughing at one point, reading a question that asked, “What’s your favorite sex position?” The entire class had been on the edge of their seats as they awaited his answer. “I’m assuming this question is directed at me?” he clarified.

Only one person could know for sure - the one who’d asked the question. But every single head in the room was nodding in the affirmative. Clearly everyone was invested in hearing his answer.

“Well, it’s hard to pick a favorite,” he grinned impishly, “and it’s probably inappropriate for me to give you guys a real answer. But I think it’s safe to say that most guys will answer this question in one of two ways… either doggie style, or up against the wall in a shower.”

A wave of excited chatter spreads over the room, perforated by giggles and even a wolf whistle from the back. Jack is grinning so wide that he thinks his face might crack and, when she hears the coach’s answer, Claire turns to shoot him a meaningful look.

Clearly eager to move on, Mr. Winchester hastily reaches back into the bucket. “Next question says, ‘Hey Coach - Do you ever do dudes?”

From her adjacent seat, Jack sees Claire’s head snap around to look at him. He meets her eye and gives her a look that confirms her suspicion. Then, he begs her with his eyes not to say anything out loud. She gives him a nod of understanding so small that it’s barely perceptible. Then, smirking at him, she slowly turns away.

Trying to fight laughter is pointless for both of them because the room is roaring with it. Looking around, Jack sees his classmates, red-faced and gasping for breath. Some of the girls are wiping tears from the corners of their eyes and clutching their stomachs as they carry on. This whole period has been fun, probably the most fun Jack has ever had in a classroom. Ever. And it would seem he’s not alone in that. But still, he’s invested in hearing the Coach’s answer. He waits eagerly as Mr. Winchester pauses purposefully, letting the chaos die down a bit before answering.

His face is red, as it has been since he’d been asked about his favorite sex position, and his lips are stretched into a thin line as though he’s trying to keep from laughing. Then, from the mouthy group at the back of the room, a crass joke is loudly made and Jack sees Mr. Winchester’s eyes snap to them. He grabs the whistle that always hangs around his neck and gives two short blasts. Everyone quiets down immediately.

“Stevens and Murphy,” barks the coach, “if you can’t take part in this activity respectfully then you won't be stayin’ to participate. Got it?”

“Got it,” the boys reply in unison.

“Alright, alright,” he says, “let’s get back to business here.”

The room is calmer now as everyone tries to compose themselves, but there’s still an undercurrent of laughter bubbling up here and there. “Yeah, lock it down,” chuckles Mr. Winchester, “C’mon, now, if you wanna hear my answer you gotta lock it down.”

The man is grinning ear to ear at the front of the room as he watches them slowly simmer down. When most everyone is back to sitting quietly, the coach finally speaks. His body is relaxed and his face is warm and pleasant, though still bright red.

“Now, the question was, ‘Hey Coach - do you ever do dudes?’ and the answer is,” he says, pausing dramatically, “Yeah. If I like somebody, I like them. I'm not picky about the equipment.”

It’s clear that this answer is a surprise to almost everyone because no one is laughing anymore. There are some feather soft whispers perceptible as a few people in the room speak directly into someone else’s ear. Claire’s head tilts Jack’s way and she winks at him, probably guessing how elated he is at this very moment.

“Now, I know you guys are aware that I was engaged for most of last year, to the lovely Ms. Braeden so I want to be clear about this... what I’ve just told you guys has absolutely nothing to do with us deciding to call off the wedding. Though I’ve always preferred not to label myself by my sexuality, I’ve never been secretive about it either. There’s nothing you guys know about me now, that she didn’t already know about me before I even popped the question. And, I’d appreciate it if you guys could have enough respect for both of us to not discuss our personal lives amongst yourselves, at least not where it can be overheard, okay?”

Jack nods his agreement, as does everyone around him. It’s easy to see that the coach is worried that the information he’s given about himself will inadvertently affect Ms. Braeden and he fervently hopes that won't happen.

“I’ve held up my end of the bargain,” he reminds them, “I’ve been honest with you guys about things that are very personal to me and it only seems fair that in return, you cut me some slack.”

Again, heads around the room nod solemnly and they all watch as Mr. Winchester turns back to his desk to pull another piece of paper from the bucket. “Next question,” he announces, “oh, this is a long one. ‘Can a girl get pregnant from butt sex, if the cum dribbles down her crack and winds up inside her?”

There are eyerolls happening all around the room, but Coach doesn’t flinch. He simply looks out at the class and gives his answer without letting judgment show on his face. “No. A dribble of ejaculate around the vaginal area isn’t going to get a girl pregnant. It’s not like that movie, The Blob, where the goo actually moves on it’s own. The stuff isn’t going to climb up in there. There’s a reason why cum is shot from the tip of the penis… it has to be forced up into the vagina in order to have any chance of fertilizing an egg.”

Jack watches his teacher glance at the clock before saying, “Well, this has been both fun and educational, right?”

Words of agreement and sounds of approval are murmured in response. As the coach walks over and dips his hand into the bucket again, he says, “It doesn’t look like we’re going to have time for second round of questions.” Then he turns to face the whiteboard where the ‘unanswered questions’ header still waits with nothing listed under it and adds, “But at least we didn’t wind up with anything we need to research.”

Returning his attention to the class, the man squares his shoulders and begins unfolding a piece of paper. “This is our last question. ‘Is it true that if I let my boyfriend do me from behind, that I’ll end up shitting my pants when I’m older?”

Their teacher rubs the back of his neck and plops down in his chair. Clearly this activity has worn him out. He scoops up all the open slips of paper and returns them to the plastic tub before answering. “That’s been an ongoing question for years and years,” he tells them. “And there’s been a lot of back and forth from the so-called experts. I think the best I can do to answer this question is just offer my opinion.

“So, here’s what I know. The anus is a muscle. Like any other muscle, it’s going to atrophy over time. When you guys are in your sixties and seventies, none of the muscles in your bodies are going to be as firm and taut as they are now. Realistically, if we live long enough, all of us are going to wind up occasionally shitting our pants someday, no matter what.

“Also, since the anus is a muscle, we know that we can stretch it out to some degree and be confident that it won’t lose its elasticity. Now, that having been said, there’s a big difference between the average person enjoying occasional anal sex, and a person who’s engaging in anal sex several times a week, for the better part of thirty, forty, or fifty years. Just like with everything else, people, moderation is the key. I would say that if you wanna do it, then do it. But don’t do it all the time. I mean, the occasional piece of cake doesn’t make us fat, but if we eat cake everyday, we’ll blow up like a balloon, right? So, the same goes for the back door. That’s what I think anyway.

“Now, I hope that what we’ve discussed today has been helpful, and in closing I want to give all of you some unsolicited advice. First of all, if you’re going to have sex, have safe sex. Even when it’s a hassle, it’s always worth it. Second, when you do have sex, be honest with your partners and treat them the way you’d like to be treated. Also, never forget that no means no. Sex is only fun when both people are into it.

“Most of all, when you have questions, ask. And I don’t mean to go ask Stevens back there,” he adds with a chuckle. “Get your answers from trusted sources. Not all websites are equal and I hate to say it, but parents may not always be straightforward in their answers. If you have genuine questions, and really need to talk to someone, the school counselor is always available and so is the school nurse.” Just as he is saying that, the bell rings. Begrudgingly, everyone begins to rise from their seats. No one seems to want to leave, class had been such a fun and unique experience today. As they file out the door, Mr. Winchester addresses them one last time. “For those of you that don’t have a class with me tomorrow, I hope you have a great holiday.”

Jack and Claire fall in with the crowd which is exiting slower than usual. Out in the hall, he bumps shoulders with her and smiles widely. “I told you,” he gloats, referring to Mr. Winchester’s admission.

“Yeah,” she concedes, “but what difference does it make now? You already said he wasn’t into your dad.”

“If at first you don’t succeed, try again,” he says with a smile. He’s feeling encouraged for some reason.

“What are you gonna do?”

“I’ve got no idea,” he admits. But, already several possibilities are taking shape in his mind.

  
  



	5. Best Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, not to sound like a broken record, but once again, Destiella has improved a chapter tremendously. She's amazing and I'm so thrilled to have her with me in this little Destiel sandbox we're all playing in!

                                                               

 

Little by little, Jack is coming to accept Kaia’s presence in his life. He still hasn’t particularly warmed to her, but upon reflection he’s come to see that it’s mostly because he doesn’t like having competition for Claire’s time and attention. If he’s being honest, he has to admit that Kaia seems to recognize his place in Claire’s life and make allowances for it. In fact, she’s probably been more tolerant of him than he’s been of her.

The two girls are officially together now; girlfriends. And though it isn’t easy for him, he does his best to tolerate their public displays of affection, and their seemingly constant need to be near one another.   

The first significant snowfall of the season had come shortly after Thanksgiving and the weather has remained cold ever since, so it’s really starting to feel like winter these days. Basketball season is in full swing and that means either practice or a game most days of the week. But, on the few days when he’s free after school and Claire doesn’t have work, Jack hangs out with his best friend. Today’s been an awesome day because Kaia is absent. Without her around, it feels like old times again. His spirits haven’t been higher in quite some time. Over lunch their group talks about plans for the holidays, what gifts they’re hoping to receive, and how they plan to spend the long winter break. All told, they’ll have a little over two weeks out of school. Some, like Jack, will be traveling out of state to visit family. Others will have relatives coming to stay with them. And, there’s one lucky duck heading to Colorado for a family ski trip.

Claire pouts playfully when hearing that Jack will be leaving on Christmas Eve and not returning for almost a week, but his trip shouldn’t be a surprise to her considering that he goes every year. Given that he’s in such a good mood, he indulges her in a way he normally wouldn’t. He asks her about her plans with Kaia.

Judging by the look on her face, he should probably ask her things like that more often. Her kitten eyes make him want to pull her into a hug. “Jody invited her family over,” she smiles warmly. “We’re gonna have a big dinner and then play games.”

“That sounds nice,” he replies, hoping his enthusiasm doesn’t seem too forced.

“Yeah, and I showed Jody those vids of the Saran Wrap ball on YouTube and she went nuts. I think she might make one so we can try it.”

“Are you getting anything for her?”

“Kaia or Jody?”

“Either.”

“Jody for sure,” she nods. Then, looking unsure, she adds, “Kaia, maybe.”

“Maybe? Why maybe?”

“Can’t think of anything,” she mumbles, probably hating to admit that she’s stumped.

He honestly doesn’t know what to say. Trying to help her is in his nature so he’d like to start throwing awesome ideas at  her. He just doesn’t have any. He’s paid zero attention to the girl’s needs, wants, or interests.

Rather than admit so much aloud, he changes the subject. “What about Jody? What are you getting for her?”

“Oh, um, two things actually. In art we’re doing crayon melting and what I’m making is for her. Actually, you should check it out. It’s cool and fun and really easy. You could do one for your dad and I bet he’d frickin’ love it.”

“It’s crayon?”

“Yeah. We put an image on canvas and then use heat to melt to the crayons over it. I traced a figure of a lady with a holstered gun. The silhouette totally looks like her when she’s in her uniform. And then I took a picture of me and traced that next to it so that it looks like it’s the two of us standing together. Then, underneath, I’m gonna write ‘Protect and Serve’. It’s kind of a double meaning, ya know? The mom thing and the lady cop thing… totally her, right?”

“Sounds perfect,” he says, considering the project. “If I was gonna do one, would you help me?”

“Sure, it’ll be fun. You’ll just have to buy a canvas and crayons, can you swing it?”

“I think I can manage,” he says, glad to at least have an idea for his dad’s gift. So far, he’s got nothing.

“You could come over Saturday and we can start on it if you want, I mean, before the game.”

“Yes,” he agrees, deciding on the spot that he’d like to give the project a try. It sounds like even if his doesn’t come out well enough to give as a gift, he’ll only be out a few bucks.

“What else are you getting her?” he asks then, wondering what other gift she’s got in mind.

“I’m hopin’ to get her a gift certificate for a massage at the salon on Main Street. I bet she’d love it… she never does stuff like that.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“Yeah, it is. But I get my first paycheck the Friday before Christmas and when I add up my hours, it seems like I might have enough.”

“When do you start guitar lessons?”

“Next check. So, I guess a week or so after Christmas? I get paid every two weeks.”

“What’s it like working there?”

“S’okay,” she says with a shrug. “The guys in the kitchen are cool, but the waitresses are a bunch of frigid bitches.”

He should’ve known that was coming. After weeks of applications and only one call for an actual interview, Claire had finally been hired at the Pizza Hut over near the elementary school. Krissy Chambers works there and so do a few of the girls in her little group. “Are you still mostly answering the phone and running the register?”

“Yeah, but I’m gonna have to start waiting tables soon. That means following one of them around and letting them tell me what to do.”

“Just for a day or two, right?”

“Days? I fuckin’ hope not. An hour or two is about all I can stand.”

“Maybe it won't be as bad as you’re thinking.”

“I’d rather eat a dick.”

Everyone in earshot bursts out laughing. The bell rings at that moment and lunch is over. Jack shoves one last bite in as he rises from his seat and as they carry their trays to the window, Claire suggests they walk home together. He gladly accepts, though he’d already assumed that they would since he doesn’t have practice.

When the last bell rings, the two depart the grounds together. They follow their usual route, but it’s been a long time since they walked like this. In fact, last time there had leaves crunching underfoot, brown and crisp, and Halloween decorations were everywhere. Now, with Thanksgiving behind them and Christmas just around the corner, there’s a dusting of snow on the ground and more in the air, tiny spindles of it that dance and spin as they fall. The town is sweet, draped in holiday cheer and newly falling snow. Houses they pass are laden with garland and red bows. Inflatable lawn ornaments litter the yards, and since the days are short now, the twinkling lights that cover shrubs and bushes are already visible in the waning light despite the fact that it’s not even the dinner hour yet.

As their path takes them closer to the downtown area, Jack is surprised by the hustle and bustle on the sidewalks. Every storefront on Main Street has an extravagant scene lit up in its display window and the lamp posts that line the sidewalk each bear a festive wreath. The street is packed, cars inching along bumper to bumper, and every parking meter is occupied.

Suddenly caught up in the holiday spirit, Jack slows to look in the huge double display window of the hardware store. Claire stands by his side, watching with him as a toy train travels around a huge figure eight. The track is surrounded by intricate model pieces… miniature versions of old-time buildings, cars and trucks, even a train depot.

It’s chilly today but not cold, rather pleasant actually, and pretty too - with just a few flurries drifting by on a soft breeze. They resume walking but pause frequently to check out some of the other window displays. None of the rest rival the hardware store, which was really over the top, but all are fun to look at.

Normally they don’t walk along Main Street where the shop entrances are, but instead take the service road behind them because it runs downhill and is open to the riverbank at the end. But, with the water level high like it is, they won’t be able to smoke under the bridge anyway. So, the two continue through this charming part of town and follow the sidewalk out onto the bridge and over the river.

As they meander along unhurried and enjoying the atmosphere, Jack is thinking of what his father had said a few weeks ago - that he may not appreciate this town because he’s never lived anywhere else, but that it was special. Looking around now, as if seeing it for the first time, he suspects that his dad was right.

By the time they’ve come across the bridge, darkness is setting in. The western sky still has streaks of color in it, the last of the daylight stubbornly hanging on. The temperature is dropping now that the sun is down, and as they walk, Claire is tugging on mittens. With the river now behind them, Jack looks to the left. At the end of that block is the deserted grocery store lot where they’ve smoked out in Kaia’s car a few times. To his right is the old mill.

As if she can read his mind, Claire says, “Wanna burn one?”

“Yes.”

He expects her to turn towards the old grocery, but instead she leans into his arm and steers him to the right. They cross the street and head towards the mill. This isn’t normally a good place to smoke out because it gets a lot of foot traffic. Curious why she’s chosen to come this way, Jack follows Claire’s lead to see what she’s got in mind.

They walk the brick street where the farmers market sits in summer. It runs the length of the old mill which rises up on their right, four stories high with rows of enormous multi-paned windows on each level. The building is dark, but each window has a single candle burning in it.

As they continue, Jack realizes that his friend is heading for the nearby park. They walk side by side, leaving two sets of footprints in the undisturbed snow.

“It’s really coming down now,” he mumbles, slowing his pace and turning his face skyward to watch the snowflakes. A little while ago the snow had been light and powdery and hardly noticeable. But since then, the flakes have grown fatter and more abundant. Heavier now, they’re also falling faster to cover the ground. Looking up into the darkness, he sticks out his tongue as if to collect the brilliant white shapes that seem to materialize from out of nowhere just a few feet overhead.

“You’re such a goof,” teases Claire from beside him. Returning his attention to her, he gives her a smile and she hooks her arm through his. Bending his arm to cradle hers, they lean into one another for a step. They’ve only gone a few more paces when she gently pulls him to a stop. Turning, he sees her peering around him to look at the mill so he turns too. They stand together arm-in-arm for a moment and just look.

The roof of it is laden with pristine white, a sharp contrast against the nite sky, and the river water creates a glistening dark backdrop by reflecting the lights that shine along its bank.

“It’s funny, right? How we can pass by something all the time and not even see it.”

“Yeah,” she says, “and then out of nowhere you just kind of notice…” Claire’s voice trails off as they stand there with arms still linked, but then she adds, “It’s really pretty.”

“So are you,” he says. With snow dusting the top of her knitted hat as well as the cascading curls that fall over her shoulders, she’s a vision. Bright eyes, rosy cheeks, pink lips. She’s easily the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. She smiles for him in response to his words, comfortable taking compliments from him and no one else in the world. Well, maybe one other.

With the mill beautifully lit and snow falling all around, it looks like a something from an old movie or even a holiday card.

“Let’s get a picture,” he says, digging out his phone.

She agrees eagerly and they pivot around to put the scene behind them. He holds up his phone to frame them into a shot and from beside him she reaches out to help adjust the angle saying, “Make sure you get the whole building.” Then they hold the device together, each supporting one side, and tip their heads together. They snap a few before Jack returns the phone to his pocket. “Let’s walk up there,” she says, tugging him along.

Together they step off the brick road and begin walking uphill. When they reach the building, they climb the exterior steps to the first level and peer in through a window. This place is also a museum, though it’s seldom open, and he’s been inside before.

From up close like this, Jack can see that the candles are fake but realizing that their flickering light is artificial doesn’t kill the ambiance. Next to him, Claire sighs softly. He turns to look at her and finds her looking back at him. She’s got one elbow propped on the snow covered window sill and is resting her chin on her hand as she regards him. She’s staring at him so intently that he finds himself saying, “What?”

“Nothing,” she replies on a heavy exhale. “It’s just, well, you’re very handsome. I don’t know if I’ve ever really told you that before, but I think I should. ‘Cause you’re the kind of guy that really wouldn’t know.”

His heart gives a heavy thud as her words sink into his bones. Though he always wants to be near her, and though her presence is required for his true happiness, the idea of actually kissing her isn’t one that appeals to him very often. Holding hands? Yes. Hugging? Yes. But, kissing? Not really. With tongues? Even less so.

But here, now, in this moment, so peaceful and so perfect, he considers it. Her face is warm in the light of one candle and her eyes are bright against the black night. Snowflakes drift by, catching on her nose and eyelashes, and if there was ever a moment when two people _should_ kiss, this is that moment. If there were no Kaia, he might’ve even leaned in. He wants to. But, sadly, there is a Kaia. There is.

If he tries to kiss Claire right now, she’ll remind him of her girlfriend, he’s certain of it. She’ll tell him that she loves him as a friend and only a friend. He knows all of this without a single word being said.

Breaking the long moment between them, Jack says only, “Thank you.” She gives him a nod to acknowledge, still holding that special smile of hers, and the two of them turn away from the window together. It’s as they’re leaving that a sign catches his attention. It’s taped into the corner of the next window, so he heads down a few paces to get a closer look. He doesn’t want to keep his friend waiting as he tries to read all the information, so he simply snaps a picture of the sign with his phone. “Sorry,” he says, hurrying back to Claire, “I was just curious.”

“S’okay,” she tells him, turning to head down the steps. Then, as gust of wind whips around the corner of the building, she shivers and says, “It’s getting cold.”

“Yeah, it is,” he agrees, and he zips up his coat.

About halfway down the steps, Claire loses her footing. He reaches for her arm, hoping to steady her, but comes up short. She goes down hard on her butt, sprawling on the slippery steps.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath as it happens.  

As she lands, she yells, “Fuck!”

Immediately he’s shuffling his feet to close the distance between them as he bends to help her up. She’s still cursing as she reaches for him, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

By the time Claire is back on her feet, both of them are laughing. She dusts the snow from her backside as they cautiously continue down. “That fuckin’ hurt,” she adds, looking back at the place where she’d fallen.

“I think you need to say the F-word again,” he tells her, “I mean, five times in five seconds, that has _got_ to be a record.”

When he offers her his arm, she makes a show of declining as she says, “Fuck you. There’s number six.”

“That’s right,” he replies jokingly, “why hang on to me when you’ve got a perfectly good ass to fall on.”

“You suck,” she tells him with a contrived pout on her face. But after a few steps, she does reach out and link their arms again.

When they arrive at the park, Claire steers them past a lady who’s out walking her dog and around to the backside of the gazebo. She wastes no time digging out a joint and getting it lit.

“There are people around,” he tells her.

“Just keep walking,” she replies. He doesn’t like smoking out in the open like this with people around, but as he keeps pace with her, he starts to realize what she’s doing. Staying by her side as they circle the structure, the two speed up and slow down as necessary in order to keep the gazebo in between themselves and any potential witnesses as they smoke.  

“It’s too cold to really sit down now anyway,” she tells him - and she’s right. The temperature has been steadily dropping since they left school. Less than two hours ago they’d walked in sunshine and a gentle breeze, but now it’s dark and the wind is cold and biting.  

“I’m ready to get home,” he tells her.

“Me too,” she agrees.

“My place is closer. Come over? Stay for supper?”

“That sounds good,” she smiles. “I’m so hungry.”

“Me too,” he agrees, hoping his dad is making something good for supper. He watches her take a long, deep hit and then takes the burnt down roach from her. Coaxing one last hit from it, Jack tosses it to the ground and crushes into the snow with his foot before kicking it into the bushes.

“I’m almost out,” she tells him, referring to her stash of weed. “If I give you a twenty can you get me some the next time you see John?”

“Sure,” he nods, quickening their pace as they leave the park. Most of his teammates might not care much for him, but there are a couple of guys that Jack can count as friends. One of them, John Wagner, has always been their primary hookup for green. He may have graduated last year, but since he stayed local instead of leaving town for college, he still comes to the high school parties... even dates a girl in the Junior class.  

Now that he’s thoroughly buzzed the cold isn’t as noticeable anymore. Or at least, it hadn’t been, not until they enter the warmth of home. He can smell dinner cooking and follows his nose to the kitchen with Claire on his heels. They climb onto stools at the breakfast bar as Jack says, “Hey, Dad, what’s for supper?”

“Hello, Jack,” replies Castiel, turning to speak to them over his shoulder. “Oh, and hello Claire. I trust you both had a good day. Mine was fine, and thank you for asking,” he grins, drawing attention to the fact that Jack had skipped over the pleasantries and gone straight to the subject of food. Without pause, he finishes with an answer. “We’re having meatloaf with potatoes and gravy for supper.”

“Sounds good,” says Jack, his stomach still front and center in his mind despite the gentle reminder of manners from his dad. “How long til we eat?”

“Not long,” he answers, seemingly abandoning his attempt to encourage polite conversation. Returning his attention to whatever he’s chopping, he casually mentions that there are rolls on the table if they need something to tide them over.

Turning towards the table, Jack notices that it’s already set and heads that way. Claire takes a roll when he does and they stand side by side to tear the bread in half and butter it. Eating as they go, they stop at the fridge for drinks before heading upstairs. Belatedly, Jack says, “Thanks, Dad,” over his shoulder.

Later, when they finally sit down to eat, Jack is ravenous. But, catching his father’s disapproving eye as he shovels in his food, he makes an effort to slow down. Soon everyone is relaxed and conversing as they enjoy the hearty meal. The three of them discuss school, Claire’s new job, Jack’s most recent basketball game, and even their respective plans for the coming holidays.

Claire explains in detail what she and Jody are going to be doing and when the meal is finished, she accepts an offer to be driven home. Jack doesn’t mind her heading out so early because he knows they both have homework to do and with his weed-induced buzz fading, fatigue is setting in.

The nights when he’s got practice he runs out of steam way before he runs out of homework so he usually puts off anything that can possibly wait. That means there’s always an ambitious pile of work waiting to eat up his free nights. Thankfully, his dad lets him off the hook for volunteering at the animal shelter at times when he’s active in an after school activity.

With Claire gone, he empties his backpack onto the bed and gets started. Hours later when his father sticks his head in, Jack is still working.

“You still at it?” he asks, face empathetic.

“I’m getting there,” Jack tells him. “I should be done soon.”

“Need me to read to you?” his dad asks jokingly, though clearly willing.

“Nope, I’ve just got the rest of this math worksheet to do. But, if you want to do that for me, guess I wouldn’t argue.”

“I bet,” he smiles before turning to leave.

Jack drops his gaze back to his work for a split second before remembering a question he’d been meaning to ask. To call the man back he says, “Hey, Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Um, do you think I could do some extra chores or something? I’d like to earn a little money. You know… for Christmas shopping?”

Leaning on the doorframe as he appears to consider, his father gives a nod as he says, “Yes, actually, I have a pretty big job that I think you could do for me. How would you feel about scraping up the vinyl flooring in my bathroom?”

“Um, I’m not sure I know how to do that,” he replies, feeling a bit leary of the project. “I mean, sure. I’d love to. But I really don’t know how.”

“I’ll show you. It’s not a complicated job, just labor intensive. I’m having new tile put down in there and I was planning to just pay the flooring company to pull up the old flooring before installing. But if you’re up for the job, I’ll give you what I would’ve paid them. That should give you plenty of money for shopping.”

“That’s perfect,” he grins, pleasantly surprised by the opportunity to earn a significant amount of money.

“You’ve got a game on Saturday, but if you’d like to get started on Sunday, I’ll make time to come in and get you started on it.”

“Sounds good,” Jack answers, actually perking up a little. Now that he’s got a way to earn some money, all he has to do is figure out what to actually buy everyone.

 

                                                                                         

 

In the brief measure of time between the onset of winter weather and his busy tax season, Cas enjoys sleeping late on Saturdays. Jack seems to enjoy this too, and they generally don’t do much before noon on these pre-holiday weekends aside from maybe lounge around in their PJ’s.

But today, Castiel is up as soon as it’s daylight. This is the last Saturday before Christmas and he’s got lots to do. He’s hoping that by waking a few hours before his son, he’ll be able to get the presents wrapped without having to worry about them being seen.

Additionally, he’s got some errands to run, luggage to dig out, two strands of lights on the exterior of the house which are out and need to be replaced, as well as some grocery shopping to finish up before he heads to the kitchen for holiday baking. It’s going to be a very long day.

Reluctantly climbing out of a warm bed, he shivers as his bare feet step onto the newly tiled bathroom floor. When choosing the new tile, he’d had no idea how much colder stone would be than the laminate flooring he was used to. If he didn’t love the look of it so much, he’d officially regret having chosen it. But, the bold graphic pattern and dimensional cut are not only striking, but invigorating too. He’s in love with the look, which the salesman had assured him was a top emerging trend in bathroom renovations.

Shivering as he crosses the floor barefoot to start up the shower, he ducks back out onto his carpeted bedroom floor with the intention of letting the scalding hot water heat up his bathroom a bit. Making his bed before ducking into the closet, Castiel grabs something to wear and lays it out before returning to the bathroom which is quickly filling with steam.

This is only the second time he’s used his bathroom since the workman had sealed the grout and left yesterday, so he’s still excited enough about the result to be energized by it. Fully awake now, he considers picking up some new towels while he’s out shopping. The updates to his floor and fixturing seem to make his current ones seem washed out.

This little project had wound up costing him quite a bit more than initially expected, but he knows that isn’t unusual for even the smallest renovation jobs.

Jack had been the one to tear up the old flooring but Cas had bought all the tools to do it. Between that and what he’d paid the boy for his labor, he’d wound up spending more than what it would’ve cost to just have the installers do it. But, helping his son learn responsibility while also giving him a chance to earn some extra money seemed like a worthy cause.

Once he’s dressed and ready to get started, Cas tip-toes down the stairs. In the kitchen he makes tea and toast, his preferred breakfast most days, drizzling his favorite honey over buttered toast and adding some to his tea as well. Then, looking out the window at the fresh coat of snow covering his back yard, Cas sighs as he mentally adds clearing snow from the driveway to his list of things to do.

As he eats, Castiel wonders what Jack might have planned for the evening. When the boy was younger, he used to spend Friday and Saturday nights taking Jack and his friends to the movies or the skating rink, the mall, or even somewhere special on occasion - like the carnival. These days he just waits for the boy to come home from doing things with kids his own age, occupying his time the best he can while he waits and making sure his kid is home safe before actually allowing himself to fall asleep.

At this point it’s been a long time since his son was home on a Saturday night. On the one hand, he’s glad the kid has a healthy social life. But on the other hand, whenever his son is out with friends, Castiel is left to worry over him.

But, soon Jack will be headed off to college. He’ll be gone for months at a time, only coming home for holidays and campus breaks. So, it’s probably best to start getting used to the house feeling empty and quiet because soon enough, that will be the norm. This last year is the beginning of the end… and this Christmas is the last one where his boy will actually be living with him full time.

Needing to get moving before a melancholy feeling settles over him, Cas abandons the last of his breakfast rather than finishing it. With tea sitting warm in his belly, he bundles up and heads outside to clear the driveway and sidewalks of snow. As he’s pulling the the snowblower out, he he passes by his tarped Lincoln and tries to ignore the sudden urge to drive it across town and watch Mr. Winchester do his shoveling.

With determination, Cas manages to gets to work. When the driveway has been cleared, he’s able to get his car out and drive over to the office space he leases. Initially he’d worked from an office in his home while his mother in law had babysat. But, once his in-laws had moved out of state, he’d had to make a change.

Working from home with a toddler underfoot, he’d  soon found, was simply not an option. It was absolutely impossible to get any work done. And, no matter what they said aloud, his clients had zero tolerance for a small child sponging his time and attention while they were paying an hourly rate for it. He’d soon wound up putting Jack into daycare and leasing an off-site office space. The location he’d chosen was good, though, and soon after making the change, his business had begun to grow. He’s now been in this same location for over ten years. And from the time his son had been old enough to start snooping, he’d been hiding gifts here.

When everything’s been loaded into his trunk, Castiel locks up again and returns to the house. He manages to get the gifts wrapped and laid under the tree before Jack gets up and despite the ambitious list of things to do, he still takes time to sit down and have a bowl of cereal with his son before getting started.    

 

Later that afternoon Cas pauses his work briefly to greet Claire when she comes over to pick up Jack for shopping. He also meets Kaia for the first time, and then watches from the doorway as the three climb into Kaia’s dark sedan together. Loud, thumping music emanates from the vehicle as it starts up and backs out of the driveway and he suppresses an urge to roll his eyes as he gives a cursory wave to them before closing the door. By the time they’re back, the clock is coming up on midnight.

“I’m surprised you’re back so late,” he mentions as they file past him and up the stairs with their bags, “the mall closes at nine.”

“We saw a movie too,” counters Jack over his shoulder.

“It smells yummy in here,” calls Claire as she ducks around the corner at the top of the stairs. He smiles as he looks around the kitchen. Since he didn’t have to bother with making supper tonight, he’s gotten quite a bit of baking done. And, Claire is right, because of the various cookies he’s been rotating through the oven the house is wafting with scents of seasonal baked goods.

Castiel’s gaze is traveling over the spoils of his evening’s labor, several different holiday confections which are currently spread over the countertops in various stages of cooling, being decorated, and being sorted into plastic containers. His attention is pulled back to the top of the stairs by Jack’s voice again when he calls out, “Hey, Dad?”

Stepping around the corner of the breakfast bar, Cas looks up and answers, “Yes?”

“We want to wrap some presents. Can we use the supplies in the garage?”

“I’ll bring them to you,” he replies, already moving.

He dutifully carries everything up the steps, but when he reaches his son’s room, Cas encounters a locked door. “There’s stuff in here that I don’t want you to see,” calls Jack from inside, “just leave everything out in the hall and we’ll come out and get it after you go downstairs.”

“Alright,” he smiles. Retreating back down the steps he’s feeling happy. It’s heartwarming to know that his son is determined to be secretive about the gifts he’s giving. It would seem that they are both looking to surprising each other with something on Christmas morning. Belatedly he wonders if the teens upstairs are hungry. Pausing halfway down, he calls over his shoulder, “You guys want something to eat?”

“No thanks,” he hears in response. “We ate at the mall.”

It’s late when the girls finally leave, and when he heads up to bed for the night Castiel makes a stop at Jacks door just as he usually does. Finding it still locked, he gives a knock and when his son responds, he simply says, “I’m heading for bed, but wanted to check on you first.”

“I’m fine,” calls his boy from the other side of the door. “Goodnight, Dad.”

“This door’s been locked a long time,” replies Cas.

“Don’t be nosy this close to Christmas - you’ll spoil all my surprises,” Jack retorts.

Grinning, Cas tells the boy goodnight before heading to his own room.

Shortly after lunch on Sunday, the doorbell rings unexpectedly. When he answers, Cas is greeted by Jody who is flanked by Claire and Kaia, each bundled up tight.

“We’re heading over to the Jenkins’s place,” Jody tells him by way of explanation, “I’m taking the kids sledding.”

Castiel smiles thinking what a wonderful idea that is. They’d just had six inches of snow yesterday and there are flakes drifting in the air again today. “How much are we supposed to get today?” he asks, referring to the snowfall.

“Three to six,” she answers, calling out the prediction in inches. “No wind,” she adds, “so it’s a good day to be out without having to worry too much about driving conditions.

“Yes,” he agrees, “and it’s not even that cold today.”

“Perfect, right?” she grins.

“Indeed.” Turning his attention to the truck in his driveway, he sees that there are several teens waiting in the bed of Jody’s old pick-up. Cas raises his arm in greeting and several return the gesture, paying little attention to him while they goof around and talk amongst themselves.

“Can we kidnap Jack?” Claire asks hopefully.

“Of course,” he smiles. The moment he has consented, both Claire and Kaia push past him through the doorway and head into the house, presumably heading inside to retrieve his son. Returning his attention to Jody he asks, “What time to do you think you’ll be back?”

“I’m assuming we’ll be out til sundown,” she tells him, which puts their return somewhere around the supper hour. “But,” she continues, “I’m going to have a half-dozen stops to take all these kids home. Do you need me to drop Jack off first?.”

“We’ve got no plans,” he assures her, “but if you and Claire would like to stay for dinner after, we’d love to have you.”

“I’d love to,” she says warmly. “But we’re expected over at Kaia’s house for pizza.”

“That sounds nice,” he tells her, stepping aside as the girls push through the doorway behind him with Jack in tow. “It’ll be a long day,” Jody concedes, stepping away to join them as they head for the truck.  

“Enjoy it,” he calls after her, the two exchanging a smile and a wave as they step apart.

Ducking back into the house, Cas watches the truckload of kids back slowly out of his driveway and head off slowly down the street.

For an hour or so, he devotes his unexpected free time to holiday preparations, including making the homemade Chex mix that Jack eats by the pound and a batch of the buckeye cookies that are one of his own favorite treats. He’d wanted to make them yesterday but had run out of time and energy.

When he’s finished and the kitchen is cleaned up, Castiel looks around and realizes that there’s truly nothing else to do. He’s ready for Christmas with Jack in the morning. With a little time to himself, he considers how he’d most like to spend it. The first thing that pops into his head is a little trip over to Coach Winchester’s house. He smiles widely as the idea takes shape in his mind. He can just take his regular car. This is a holiday weekend, he tells himself, and the vehicles of visiting relatives will be lining curbs all over town. His presence will hardly stick out. A moment later he’s at the hall closet tugging on his winter coat. Bypassing all the prep work that’s normally involved in a trip to the teacher’s house, Cas heads out to the garage and gleefully slides into his Buick. He puts on some Christmas music as he waits for the garage door to open, then backs out of his driveway.

The snow is still falling and the driveway will need clearing again by the time he gets back. Unable to hold down his giddy smile, Cas takes off down the street. He takes the main bridge over the river and slips into the long line of cars that are inching down idyllic Mainstreet.

When he finally makes the familiar turn into Mr. Winchester’s neighborhood, Castiel feels a shiver of excitement racing up his spine. He’s excited to try and catch a glimpse, sure, but his heart is mostly racing because he’s deviating from his methodical nature. He’s feeling reckless and wild as he impulsively seizes an unforeseen opportunity, abandons his normal routine, and does something completely out of character.

Easing his foot off the brake to coast down Willow Drive, Castiel sees that being spontaneous and living in the moment have paid off. He grins widely as he watches the scene playing out in Mr. Winchester’s front yard.

Two grown men are froliching in the snow, laughing boisterously as they play. One is taller than the other and both are dressed for the winter weather complete with boots, stocking hats, and gloves. Castiel’s eyes naturally gravitate towards the man he came to see, and as he pulls to the curb of an adjacent house, he puts his car in park.

Mr. Winchester is laughing as he drops to one knee in the newly fallen snow. Shouting over his shoulder as he hastily forms snowballs, he then pivots to fire them off at his companion. Not to be outdone, the taller man takes aim and pelts the teacher square in the face with a big wet one.

Without taking a moment to recover, the coach is up on his feet again, returning fire over his shoulder while slip-sliding across the lawn in an attempt to get away.

The taller figure had seemed daunting at first, but the longer Castiel watches, the more the man begins to resemble a cartoon Moose. He careens clumsily over the landscape, often falling to one knee and lurching back up again without missing a beat.

As the two men continue playfully but brutally pummelling one another with snow missiles, Cas notices another figure nearby. The feminine form is lingering near what was probably a snowman only moments before. Her hands are clenched into fists where they perch on her hips and her stance is that of a mother chastising her wayward children. But, her exuberant smile and rosy cheeks give away her joy as her head swivels back and forth to follow the men’s rough and rowdy snowball fight. Like them, she’s wearing a hat and boots. Dark brown hair cascades out from under her hat and over her shoulders. At first it looks as though she’s gesturing wildly. But, when Cas looks closer, he sees that the woman is signing.

The taller man has broken away from his battle royale to approach her, and as he does, he appears to be conversing with her in sign language. They both wear huge smiles that seem to spread wider as he comes closer. Cas can’t read what they’re saying to one another, but it’s clear from their body language that he’s playfully teasing her and trying to pull her into the action. Before she can even attempt to flee, her threat is taken down. Hard.

Coach Winchester, not to be forgotten in favor of a lady, has come running up from behind to barrel into the man. It’s an epic tackle and Castiel is laughing aloud as he watches the two men tumble into a tangle of limbs. Their thrashing kicks up a cloud of white dust and, wisely, the young lady steps back to give them room.

He hadn’t even noticed the daylight waning until he saw the three figures sling arms around one another and retreat into the house. But, in the gathering twilight, Cas remembers himself and puts the car back in drive. Easing away from the curb he exits the neighborhood and enjoys the feeling of happiness that seems to have permeated every cell of his body while watching the unbridled display of childlike antics.

When he finds himself once again sandwiched between other cars and crawling down Main Street at a glacial pace, Castiel decides to make a quick stop. Lady luck seems to still be with him too - because up ahead a car is pulling out into traffic. Without missing a beat, Cas swoops in to claim the vacated space. He doesn’t even have to feed the parking meter because it’s twenty minutes from expiring.

Heading into the quaint cheese shop, he fills a shopping basket with a few bottles of good wine and a brie cheese that’s all prepped and ready to bake. Adding a few other treats, Cas heads to the register thinking that these goodies, selected with no one in mind but him, will be something to look forward to after he drops his son off at the airport tomorrow.

By the time he’s home, it’s completely dark. The moon is out and the snow blanket that’s been draped over his driveway is undisturbed. Since there are no new tire tracks in the driveway, it seems safe to assume that Jack has not been dropped off yet. When he’s parked in the garage, Cas leaves the garage door open while he carries in his bags. Then he returns to pull the snow blower out.

When the drive and walkways are once again cleared, he heads inside for the night. Tucked underneath a warm blanket, Cas is watching television when Jack returns. Having heard the front door, he mutes the television and from his cozy spot on the sofa listens to his son as he shucks off his snow pants and boots in the entryway. When he rounds the corner, Cas greets the young man. He’s thrilled to see an elated smile on the boy’s face when he stops, poised with one foot on the bottom step and one hand on the banister.  

“It looks like you had a good time,” he smiles.

“Oh yeah,” Jack responds. “If it hadn’t gotten dark, we’d still be out there.”

Despite being glad that his son is enjoying the season, the break from school, and life in general at this moment, it’s impossible not to let his critical eye wander over the bright pink nose, ears, and fingers that indicate overexposure to the elements. Also, his pants are soaking wet from the knees down - even his socks are waterlogged.

“You’d better get a hot shower,” he says, worried that the kid will get sick right before his big trip to the East Coast.

“I was about to,” he answered, turning to head upstairs.

As an afterthought Cas calls out, “Are you hungry?”

“Famished!”

Chuckling to himself, Castiel pauses his show and kicks off the blanket as he gets up from the sofa. Heading to the kitchen, he pulls a container of frozen homemade chili from the freezer and pops it in the microwave. Moving at a leisurely pace, he also pulls deli meats and cheeses from the fridge and begins assembling sandwiches. Periodically he pauses to rotate the chili as it defrosts and by the time his son comes thumping down the steps, he’s got everything ready.

Jack thanks him for the food as he helps himself to a bowl of chili and piles a fistful of shredded cheese on top. Crumbling crackers into it as well, he grins widely as they take their food to the coffee table.

Normally, Cas prefers to eat meals at the table. But, Jack loves to eat in front of the television and it’s Christmastime so he’s feeling indulgent enough to allow it more often than usual. While his son gets settled on the couch, he puts away the mess in the kitchen.

“What are we watching?” he asks when he finally joins his boy.

“ _The Sandlot_ ,” Jack answers. “I can never scroll past it if it’s on. I love it too much.”

Setting a large plate of assorted holiday treats on the table, Cas feels proud of the selection he was able to make this year and when he sees Jack’s eyes light up at the sight of it, he knows that his ambitious holiday baking was worth the effort. With their feet on the coffee table, plates in their laps, and a wide selection of treats within easy reach, father and son relax together and enjoy one of their all-time favorite movies.

By the time the film has come to its end, both of them are beginning to doze off. “We may as well head to bed,” says Cas, turning off the television and getting to his feet. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Jack sighs and flops onto his side, tugging the blanket up to his shoulders. “How ‘bout I just sleep down here.”

“Your hamsters are probably pretty hungry up there,” he counters.

“You could feed them for me,” Jack tries hopefully.

“I’ve got an idea,” Cas retorts playfully, “how about if I go upstairs and feed the critters, while you take my place cleaning up the mess down here?”

“You win,” grumbles Jack, finally putting his feet on the floor.

Cas thumps his boy on the rump affectionately as he walks by and then begins carrying their dirty dishes to the sink. It only takes a few minutes to put things back in order, but when he passes by Jack’s room and peeks in, he finds the boy already sound asleep.

The next morning it’s Christmas Eve according to the calendar. But to them, it’s Christmas morning. They’ve always pretended, every year. It’s just their way of celebrating early but still enjoying all the theatrics. At Jack’s age, the thumping of fists on his father’s bedroom door is probably overkill, as is his overzealous, “Presents, Dad! Presents!”

But, if his son is still willing to play the part of an eager child, Castiel is not above soaking it up. Flinging himself from bed, he grabs his robe from the back of the door and follows his son downstairs. “Only stockings,” he cautions, his voice refusing to sound authoritative through his goofy grin. “No presents until we get a picture.”

“Hurry up,” his son orders, skipping around as he surveys the presents under the tree.

“I forgot my phone,” Cas chuckles, awkwardly pivoting back towards the second floor. As he ascends the open stairway he looks down at the tree and notices several presents that weren’t there when he went to bed. It confirms his suspicion that Jack’s childlike enthusiasm is, at least partially, staged for his enjoyment. The boy had already been downstairs before waking his father, it would seem, adding gifts to the small pile that sits beneath their tree.

Perched on his bedside to charge is Cas’s cell phone. He grabs it and heads back down, pausing halfway down the staircase to snap a picture of his son on his hands and knees as he digs through the gifts and separates them into two piles. Stopping in the kitchen to start the coffee maker, Cas then takes another picture as he approaches his son and then gets down on the floor where they take selfie together amidst the colorful packages.

With the preliminaries out of the way, he’s ready to get started. “You go first,” he says, eager to see which package the young man will choose. He watches like a hawk as a hovering hand teases back and forth between two packages, trying to decide which to open.

Beautiful gold leaf paper that had cost twelve dollars per roll quickly becomes nothing but shredded confetti under Jacks eager hands and he lets out a squeal when the logo on the box becomes visible.

“Oh yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

“Are they the right color?” he asks, leaning in. He’s got the receipt if they need to be exchanged. Considering that the price tag was almost four hundred dollars _before_ adding a warranty to the purchase, he wants to be sure they’re exactly what the kid was hoping for.

“They’re awesome, dad, really! Thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome,” he smiles, snapping another picture as his son tears into the box and still another when he slips them on. It goes against his better judgement to spend so much money on earphones, especially when there were comparable models for considerably less. But, Jack had been very specific about the brand he wanted and if there’s one day a year to spoil your kid… it’s this one.

“Your turn,” says Jack, literally grabbing the phone away from him. “Pick one!”

Castiel surveys the choices. There are three and he toys with his son as he takes his time choosing. “I’m not sure,” he mumbles playfully, “should I start with the biggest? Or the heaviest?”

“That one,” says Jack excitedly, pointing to the biggest.

“Okay then,” he agrees as he hauls it over to himself. He tugs the wide ribbon off first and then begins ripping the paper. As the item is revealed, he begins to realize that what he’s seeing is the backside of something that’s been framed. Jack leans in to pluck the last few pieces of paper away as Castiel turns the large square around to see the front.

His eyes rove over the color streaked canvas and Castiel feels his heart give a few heavy whumps. Centered in the bottom half of the frame is a recognizable image, one that’s featured in a framed photo that sits on his desk at the office. He skims the pads of his fingers gently over the hand painted canvas, and though his throat is tight with emotion he manages to croak out, “It’s us.”

“Yeah,” says Jack, “I’m not sure why that picture is special to you, but it must be. I mean, it’s the only picture on your desk that never changes.”

“Huh,” says Cas, realizing that the boy is right. He keeps other photos displayed on his desk and around the office, but they’ve changed over the years - newer prints replacing the older ones as vacations are taken and annual school pictures are purchased. He still hasn’t looked at his son since opening this present, but it’s hard to tear his eyes away from his gift. Even now, he’s watching his finger trace the lines of it as he speaks to Jack. “This,” he says, trying to keep his voice even, “was the first day of kindergarten. It was the very first of the ‘first day of school pictures’, I suppose.”

Jack’s voice is soft in response and all he says is, “Oh, I see.”

“Your grandmother took the photo,” he explains, “that’s why I’m actually in it with you. But the following summer, your grandparents moved East. After that, there wasn’t anyone but me to take the pictures. So, I couldn’t really be in them with you anymore.”

On the canvas, Castiel is shown standing with his son perched on his hip and holding a large umbrella over their heads. In the actual photograph there are lots of details that Cas loves to stare at… like that his tie had somehow been knotted backwards that day, or that one of Jack’s little rubber boots was actually stuck in the pocket of his oversized trench coat.

In Jack’s version, however, it’s a simple silhouette so those details aren’t visible. Because of that, Cas winds up noticing something he’s always overlooked before. His posture.

Castiel’s stance and body position indicate protectiveness of the child in his arms. Even the umbrella reflects this because it’s tilted to center over the boy perched on his hip rather than over Castiel himself.

Across the top of the canvas is a long line of colors, various hues of blue and green and grey. They start out bright up top and then streak down the page, growing lighter as they go. Cas can feel them under his fingertips. Wax. Probably crayons. Somehow Jack had lined up the colors and melted them down over the image. And, with some unknown technique, he’d managed to insure that none of the colors rolled over the umbrella. It was flawless, each color reaching the umbrella and somehow routed around it as though it was truly shielding the two figures beneath it.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he whispers, finally able to look up at his son. “It’s so beautiful, Jack. I love it.”

Thankfully, his son doesn’t seem to be choked up like he is. The young man’s eyes are shining with excitement, clearly elated to have his father be so enchanted with what he’d made.

“Claire helped me,” he says, using the phone in his hands to click a picture. Cas turns the picture around and poses with it so his son can take a proper photo of him with his gift. Then he gets to his feet and walks through the house, immediately seeking out an esteemed place to hang this incredible work of art. Jack tags along and together they consider a few places before settling on the wall in the entryway that faces the front door. He takes down the framed print that has hung in this spot for years and replaces it with the one Jack has made for him.  

“What are you going to do with that one?” his son asks, inquiring about the one that he’s taken down.

“I’ll think of something,” he shrugs. Then, turning back to face his son, Cas pulls him into a hug. “I love it, Jack, and I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad. Merry Christmas.”

                                                                                       

The two return to the living room after that, Jack selecting his next gift and once more shredding its festive paper with cartoonish glee. He seems thrilled with the new cell phone when he opens it. To Cas, it looks exactly the same as the one that his son currently carries. But, according to Jack, it’s far different. Or at least, that’s what he’d said when eyeing it at the mall shortly after Thanksgiving.

Cas bursts out laughing when he opens his next gift. A tie. “It’s so ugly. I think it’s even worse than last year!”

“Just don’t wear it on a date,” teases his son. It’s become a game over the years, this thing they do with the ties. Jack always seeks out the most hideous one he can possibly find and then enjoys cajoling his father into wearing it when the two are headed for an event that his son thinks will deliver the maximum amount of embarrassment possible. He’s always played along because, well, what kind of father wouldn’t wear the tie his son gave him for Christmas at least once, right? It would seem that Jack’s logic is similar… what kind of son wouldn’t seize the opportunity have a little fun at the expense of his parent, right?

When the presents have all been opened, Cas asks Jack to get a garbage bag and clean up the wrappings. While his son is busy doing that, Cas is in the kitchen putting pans into the oven. With everything already prepped and ready to go, it doesn’t take long. While the meat and potatoes are cooking, Cas sets his sights on something to tide them over until dinner is ready. He sets out bakery cinnamon rolls and another plate of treats.

As he pours himself a cup of coffee and oversweetens it, Jack looks over at the food and says, “Now I know it’s a holiday because my dad just put out cookies and candy at ten thirty in the morning.”

Giving his son a stern look that he fails to hold, Cas turns to start filling his tea pot. The two enjoy their sugary breakfast and then head up to Jack’s room. Checking over the suitcase that his son has packed, Castiel adds a few overlooked items and then snaps it shut. “Is this going too?” he asks, pointing towards the backpack that’s sitting on his bed.

“Yes, but are you taking that stuff to the car?”

“I am.”

“Can you leave me the backpack then? I want to add my new headphones and stuff.”

“Sure,” he agrees. Then, before ducking out with the luggage, Castiel tips his chin to indicate the hamsters and says, “Don’t forget to write down what I should feed them and how often.”

“Sure thing, Dad.”

Dinner isn’t exactly rushed, but it isn’t leisurely either. They enjoy spiral sliced honey ham and cheesy potatoes along with a few favorite sides. Then, as soon as they’re finished eating, Castiel is on his feet again. He packs up some ham sandwiches for Jack’s flight along with a wide variety of the holiday treats he made and adds them to the backpack that his son will be carrying on when he boards.

Too soon, it’s time to head out. It’s a forty minute drive to the airport. Cas asks if there’s anything special that Jack’s looking forward to doing while he visits his grandparents and his son responds with a few things, like tobogganing on a huge hill near the edge of town and an annual Christmas Festival that they traditionally visit. But, before they’re even halfway to their destination they both fall quiet and the next time he looks over at his son, the young man is wearing his new headphones. His head is tipped back against the seat as he enjoys them and Castiel returns his attention to the road. The countryside between small rural towns is a winter wonderland and he hums along to Christmas carols as he enjoys the scenery.

It’s not easy to say goodbye to Jack when he checks in for his flight, but he forces himself to do it cheerfully and wish his son well. Faking a smile as he turns to go, Cas holds himself together until he’s back at the car. Then, once he’s alone, he lets his shoulders slump. He doesn’t bother playing cheerful music on the way home because he can already feel a familiar melancholy feeling settling in.

By the time he’s home, Cas isn’t just morose - he’s tired too. Flopping down on the couch, he flips through the menu chanel. Nothing seems interesting enough to really hold his attention so he just picks something that it’s easy to fall asleep to… something old in black and white. Then, with _Miracle on 34th Street_ playing softly, he shuts his eyes and lets sleep take him under.

When the doorbell rings, it pulls Castiel from his slumber. He sits up, looking around and wondering if he’d imagined the bell. When it rings again, he gets up and heads for the door. Wondering who on earth would be stopping by, unplanned, on a holiday, he leans in and looks through the tiny peephole before actually opening the door.

The distorted face that stares back at him intently is such a shock that he curses aloud. Since he’s been napping on the couch, he’s sure that his hair is an unruly mess. His clothes are likely wrinkled and his eyes bloodshot. Hell, he probably looks awful. But who the fuck cares, he thinks, fumbling with the deadbolt.

“What the fuck?” he shouts excitedly when the door swings open. “What are you-

“Surprise!” shouts the man on his stoop.

“Zar, what are you doing here?” Castiel grins happily.

“Oh Cassie,” he says, stepping into an embrace, “I know you’re always alone on Christmas so it seemed like the perfect time to drop by.”

“I’m so happy to see you,” he says, still wrapped around the man.

“Happy Christmas, Love.”

“Happy Christmas, Zar,” he replies, pulling back just long enough to look the man in the face for a moment before falling back into his arms. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispers, “I just can’t even believe it.”

“I’ve missed you too, Cassie. But, between the flight and the drive I’m totally knackered. Be a dear and help me with my things?”

“Of course,” he replies, stepping into shoes and ducking out into the cold. The two work together to bring in luggage from the rental car outside and haul it up to the guest room. As he tries to switch over from the mindset of a depressed single father who’s alone on Christmas to that of a host who has just welcomed an old friend, Castiel lingers awkwardly in the room.

“Is there anything I get you?” he asks, unsure what to do next.  
“Spot of tea would be lovely,” Zar replies. “And a moment to visit the loo.”

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Cas replies, exiting the room. “Take your time coming down,” he adds, hoping for a moment or two to compose himself. He goes straight to the kitchen and fills the tea pot before ducking into the downstairs bathroom. Splashing some water on his face to freshen up, Cas runs wet fingers through his hair to tame it as well. He straightens his clothes the best he can and feels reasonably better upon exiting.

When Zar enters the kitchen, the tea is ready and there’s an artfully assembled platter of holiday cookies and candies set out on the table. Taking seats across from one another, both prepare their cup they way like it. “Wildflower honey with cinnamon,” says Zar, reading the label aloud. “Where did you find this?”

“There’s a family that sells several varieties at the farmers market here in town. I’ll admit it’s become an addiction for me… I stockpile jars of each flavor for winter in fear that I’ll run out.”

“Indeed,” chuckles his friend, “like a squirrel burying nuts for the winter.”  

“Something like that,” smiles Cas.

The men take a few sips and relax in the quiet before Zar breaks the silence again. “Cassie,” he says with a smirk, “you look like absolute shit.”

Cas sighs long and deep with his eyes on the tea cup he cradles because he knows the man is right. He then playfully rebukes him saying, “Quit flirting you cheeky bastard.”

Once the two start talking, they don’t stop. Zar tells Castiel that he’s only stateside for a short time but that once he remembered Cas always being alone over the holidays, his timing had seemed like kismet. When prompted as to why he hadn’t called, the man explains that he’d simply wanted the visit to be a surprise. Cas confirms that it certainly is.

Zar talks of the changes to his life since the last time they’d visited. He confirms that he loves his new position at work and the opportunities it provides him, especially in terms of travel. He also says that he loves his new flat and then issues Castiel an open invitation to come and visit any time. When the subject turns to Castiel, he confirms that his business is doing well and then pulls out his phone to show off pictures of Jack as he shares all the details of the young man's life.

When the hour grows later, the two abandon tea and cookies in favor of uncorking some wine. Relieved that he’d stocked up the other day, Castiel pulls a favorite bottle out to get them started. Seating themselves on the couch, the men get comfortable. Soon they’re finishing off the second bottle, reminiscing their college days and marveling over how the times have changed since then.

Sitting on the couch and watching as Zar opens the third bottle, Cas takes stock of himself and realizes that he’s buzzing hard. He’s probably rambling as he tells his stories and laughing way too loud at those Zar tells him in return. But, if he’s making a fool of himself, Zar isn’t judging him. That much is clear.

Glassy eyes lock on his as the man leans in to fill Castiel’s glass again and as their gaze lingers, Cas is surprised by how quickly he’s become enamored with his old flame - especially considering how desperately he’s been pining over Mr. Winchester lately.

But honestly, who could resist Balthazar’s debonaire accent? Quick wit and dry humor are a strong pairing with the man’s classic good looks and, as the hour grows later, Cas forgives himself in advance for what he’s about to do. He’s only human, after all, and at this moment all he can think of is climbing into bed with his former lover.

When he was young, Zar’s lack of interest in monogamy had been a deal-breaker. But right now Cas doesn’t give a shit about the long term. He’s been bereft of pleasurable company for far too long, laser focused on the mundane details of running his business and the endless chores that come with raising a child. It feels like forever since he was touched, desired. Cas could cry for how badly he wants to feel hands on his naked body right now. His eyes dip down for a glimpse of Zar’s hands and he vividly remembers how they felt against his skin.

Dragging his eyes back to the man’s lips, he remembers those too and smiles as he thinks of the way they’d once devoured him, Castiel begins to feel warm under his collar and his stomach twists pleasurably as he considers how it might feel to surrender to the want that’s building deep down inside him.

Right now he doesn’t give a fuck about monogamy or about relationships or even about tomorrow morning. He just wants. He’s aching for it and can’t think of a single reason he should bother fighting the urge. Suddenly certain, he reaches out to lift the half-empty wine glass from Zar’s hand and places it on the coffee table along with his own.

Turning back, he smiles as he lays his hand on his friends thigh and then leans in to close the small space between them. Bringing their lips together feels even better than he’d thought it would and Cas knows he should probably start out slow, kiss lightly, and let his old lover feel the invitation that he’s extending. But he can’t do it. It’s been too long and he’s hungry.

Unable to hold back, he eagerly pushes himself forward to deepen their kiss while sliding his palm up the man’s inner thigh to cup him between his legs. Groaning as he does it, his heart skips a beat when he feels hands come to his shoulders.

Then, sadly, he feels himself being gently pushed back. Pushed away.

When he opens his eyes, Cas blinks in surprise as he sees the pitying look that has come to rest on Zar’s face.

“I’m sorry Cassie,” says Zar. “I’m so very sorry. It just never occured to me that you might, well, that after all this time you might still be inclined.”

The words ‘be inclined’ are said as though they are a question being asked. “I thought that-

“I know,” Cas murmurs, advancing once more. “I know it doesn’t mean anything… I know you’re not the monogamous type and I don’t even care. I’m not expecting you to be exclusive. Hell, I’m not expecting anything at all past tonight. I just want you. I’m just-

“You’re lonely,” Zar finishes.

“Yes.”

“I had a feeling that might be it,” said Zar, the words sounding as if he were confessing a crime. “That’s partly why I came. I knew you’d be glad for the company. But, it never occured to me that you might be looking for more than just a friend to chat with. I never even thought-

“It’s okay,” replied Castiel, “I know it would just be for tonight. I’m okay with that.”

“Cassie,” says Zar, joining their hands, “I came _partly_ because I knew the timing would be good for you. But I also came with news.”

“News?” repeats Cas, puzzled.

“News, my friend. You see, Cassie, I’ve met someone and fallen in love.”

Stunned by the direction their conversation had taken, Castiel stares at his friend with his mouth agape.

“I know it’s real,” continues Zar, “because I haven’t been inclined to cheat. I mean, I haven’t. I won’t. I’m truly not even tempted anymore. I know I’m in love because I’m faithful and want to keep being faithful.”

“I see,” Cas says softly, suddenly embarrassed.

“You’re my oldest friend,” Zar tells him. “You’re the one who first taught me what love is… what it means. You’re the one who made me believe in it. And now, I’ve finally found it for myself. I’ve asked this man to marry me and he’s said yes. So, I’ve come here to tell you that I’m getting married and that I’d like you to be my best man.”

“Oh, Zar,” he moans, head in hands, “I feel like such a fool. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re not,” assures his friend, pulling Cas into a hug. “You’re not a fool. You’re not. Honestly. If I wasn’t engaged right now, I would jump at the chance you’ve offered.”

“I’m happy for you,” says Cas, still reeling from the news but finding that he cares enough about Zar to say words he doesn’t mean quite yet, but will someday.

“Cassie,” continues Zar, “it doesn’t seem fair that you’re alone. You’re the one who made me see that real love wasn’t just for straight people… that we could have it too. And honestly, mate, that’s why it’s so perfect that you be the one to stand by my side when I get married. It’s not just that you’re a dear friend, it’s that you are the one who inspired me to find love. Or at least to know it when I see it.”

“I’m happy for you,” Cas says again, not sure what else there is to say.

“It’s going to happen for you too, Cassie. It will. Of all the men I know, you’re the one who most deserves to be happy.”

Castiel nods, accepting what he firmly believes to be a platitude, and leans forward to take his abandoned wine glass back in hand.

“The wedding is tentatively planned for summer,” adds Zar, apparently trying to move on. “We’re thinking we’ll do it in New York, but to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure of the venue at all. He’s trying for a promotion at work and if all goes well, we’ll soon be living in NYC full time. But if he doesn’t get the position then who knows, I guess.”

Still processing the big news, adjusting to the change, and nursing the emotional wounds he’s absorbed tonight, Castiel drains his glass and several more after it. He drinks so heavily, in fact, that his house guest actually has to help him to bed.

“This is it,” he jokes lamely as Zar tucks him in, “I’ve got no dignity left.”

“Relax,” chuckles his friend, “you never had much to start with.”

The words might be teasing, but the man’s hand rests on Cas’s cheek with so much kindness that it soaks into him. He feels quite loved when his friend leans in slowly and presses a soft and lingering kiss to his forehead. With that, he closes his eyes and doesn’t open them when Balthazar leaves.

Laying in the dark, Cas thinks of his past with Zar, and with other lovers as well. He wonders what his life might have been like if he’d stayed with Zar back in college. He also thinks about Meg and how things might’ve played out with her if he hadn’t broken things off when he did.

Eventually his mind wanders to Kelly. Usually his thoughts of her circle around either fond memories or painful grief. But this time he thinks about what drew him to her in the first place. He ponders the concept of attraction and tries to figure out what defines it. He also examines the connection between attraction and love.

Lots of questions cross Cas’s mind as he lays in bed, so drunk that he’s spinning and pretty much just biding his time until he can finally pass out. Would his attraction to Meg have eventually evolved into love if he’d stayed with her long enough? Would he have become comfortable in a non-monogamous relationship if he’d stayed with Zar? Would he have been so infatuated with Kelly’s kind heart if he hadn’t been jilted by previous lovers?  

The questions are numerous and he has no answers. The concept of attraction, much like love, is hard to define.

Honestly, Castiel has no idea what makes some people attractive and romantically interesting while others are not. At the present time, Dean Winchester is very attractive to him. But why? What is it about the teacher that makes him so appealing? Cas can name lots of things about the man that make him attractive, but none really merit Cas being strung out for the man like he is. It’s strange.

At some point in his contemplations, Cas falls asleep. His dreams seem to circle him, the faces of past lovers morphing from one to another and back again as he sits in his car watching Mr. Winchester from afar.

When he wakes, he’s got a splitting headache. His memories of last night with Zar and those of his unsettling dreams all have the same fuzzy quality to them. The one clear memory he has is of Zar’s voice telling him that he deserves to be happy.

Castiel has a good time over the next few days while his unexpected house guest stays to spend some time with him. They putter around town, lounge around the house, cook elaborate meals, and drink far too much wine. It’s not until Zar leaves and he’s truly alone that Castiel once again finds himself overwhelmed by the urge to see Mr. Winchester.

 

                                                                                            

 

With his brother and Eileen having come and gone, the holidays are over for him. Dean feels ruddy. There’s nothing left to look forward to and he’s having trouble thinking of anything enjoyable that might fill the time between now and when classes resume next week. He’s on the phone with Sam complaining about it when his brother tells him that he’s got ‘the after-Christmas blues’.

“Bullshit,” counters Dean. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard all day.”

“It’s real,” his brother insists. “Look it up.”

“No way. If anyone checks my internet search history, I only want porn coming up.”

“Well,” chuckles Sam, “I’m searching it for you. Don’t say I never did anything for ya.”

Groaning, Dean continues pacing back and forth across the living room as his brother starts listing off suggestions of how to fight this supposed post-holiday depression, despite the fact that he hasn’t been diagnosed with it. Well, not by anyone with a medical degree anyway.

He barks a laugh at his brother. “Start a new project - are ya kiddin’ me, Sam?”

“Dean-”

“Keep busy? Be Grateful? Dude. What frickin’ website are you even on?”

“Psych Central,” answers Sam. “And hey, there’s a quiz. Let’s take the quiz.”

“No way, Sammy,” he says firmly.

“C’mon Dean,” presses his brother, “Question one… Is it hard for you to concentrate on reading?”

Pausing his pacing to look out the front window, Dean huffs a laugh and says, “Always. Unless it’s Busty Asian Beauties.”

“Question two… Do you feel sad, blue, or unhappy?”

“Dude. Stop it. I’m not taking a damned quiz.” From his position at the window, Dean sees yet another layer of new snow on the ground. He just cleared the driveway this morning and already it’s buried again.

“I’m putting yes for that one because you already said you feel like shit. Question three… Are you agitated, do you keep moving around?”

He’s been pacing since they started talking. Turning away from the window he resumes walking back and forth across the room even as he says, “No. I ain’t agitated and quit quizzin’ me. I ain’t takin’ no goddam quiz.”

“I’m putting yes for that one too. I can hear you wearing a path into your carpet. Question four…

“I’m hangin’ up Sammy.”

“Dean, if you just-”

“Bye, Sammy.”

With a petulant sigh, his brother responds, “Bye, Jerk. Call again soon.”

“Bye, Bitch. Say hi to the missus for me.”

Normally when he’s feeling like this, Dean heads to a bar. He gets a buzz and he picks up a warm body to help distract himself. Sadly going to a bar right now would mean clearing the driveway again and if there’s one thing he’s not doing again today… it’s shoveling the drive.

So, in lieu of the bar, he’ll get his buzz and his distraction the easy way. He’ll drink at home and jerk off to porn.

Grabbing a bottle of whisky and a glass of ice, Dean heads to the living room and sinks down into his most comfy chair. Turning on the television, he flips through the choices for a while. Once he’s selected a movie, he pours whiskey into his glass and leans back to relax and enjoy himself.

Draining his drink slowly as he watches, Dean strokes himself lightly through his jeans with two fingers. By the time he’s poured a second glass, he’s unzipped himself to relieve the slow building pressure as his dick responds to the tease of porn and a gentle touch.

Onscreen the action is building as the original couple is joined by a second pair. Pouring himself a third drink, Dean starts to feel his body warming in the sweet caress of alcohol. He teases at his nipple through the soft t-shirt he’s wearing, his hand sliding up and down his abdomen to divide its time between the hard nubs of his nipples and the silky crown of his dick.

Then, as the couples on his porno movie start moving towards anal play, Dean feels his asshole quiver excitedly. Fully stroking his dick now, Dean wriggles in his chair as he tries to pretend that he’s not craving some anal action himself.

Dean may have pushed in through the back door a few times in the past, but he’s never actually been on the receiving end. That is, he’s never actually been had. Fucked. Whatever. He’s never taken a real dick. But, it’s something he’s thought about from time to time and recently the urge to go ahead and try riding a dick has been growing stronger. He simply hasn’t found the right time or the right person yet.

Thankfully, for a nominal price, one can buy a silicone replica. His recent experimentations with fake dick have left Dean thinking that being fucked for real, when the time comes, will probably be nothing short of amazing.

Dean’s feeling horny as fuck watching this exuberant group get down and dirty on the TV screen. He shoves his jeans down past his thighs and starts to really jack himself in time with the thrusts he’s seeing. His eyes are locked on the scintillating sight of a hard cock drilling into a tight pink hole and the moans of the actors mingle with his own. When he occasionally looks down at his dick, the dribble of opaque fluid that’s seeping from his tip invokes a visceral reaction in his stomach.

Sadly, the neglected hole between his cheeks is jealous of the attention he’s been giving his cock and balls. Sitting in this chair just isn’t feasible anymore. He needs to get a finger up his ass.

Getting to his feet, Dean abandons the half empty glass of amber liquid and kicks his jeans off. Then, with his mind on the neglected hole between his cheeks, Dean comes around to stand behind his recliner. Bending over the back of it, he finds that it easily supports his weight. He grins as he begins to simultaneously tease his hole with one hand while jerking off with other. Able to watch the television as he does both, Dean’s only issue is how uncoordinated he seems to be as he pulls on his shaft. So, yeah, it’s clumsy. But it’s going to get him there.

Feeling lascivious, he pushes his finger into the puckered skin that gathers at his entrance. Immediately he realizes that this isn’t going to work despite his clever position because he’s dry. With an irritated growl, Dean decides to just head upstairs where there’s lube. And a dildo.

The smaller screen up in his room will be a trade off, but he’ll make due.

It’s only when he turns off the television that Dean realizes the sun has set. While he’s been preoccupied, it’s gotten dark outside. Basically, he’s been giving a free show to any creep with binoculars.  

Chastising himself for being careless again, Dean heads for the window with the intention of restoring his privacy. He had promised himself he’d be more careful about being naked around open windows but he keeps forgetting.

Catching sight of himself reflected in the window, Dean smiles. It’s hard to not be proud of what he sees. He’s a good looking man and with his heavy cock swinging from side to side as he walks, all Dean can think is that he’s bigger and far better looking than either of the dudes who starred in the porn he was just watching.

Forcing himself to look past his own reflection, Dean reaches out to draw the drapes closed and that’s when he sees the car again… the one that had prompted him to start being more alert about his windows in the first place… the one he’d looked at through binoculars.

Startled, he steps away from the window. With his heart suddenly pounding, he turns back toward his chair, grabbing his jeans from the floor and hopping into them. He dashes across the room towards the dining room table where the binoculars still sit in easy reach.

Heading for the same window he’d knelt at last time, Dean thumbs between the slats of his blinds to open a small space where he can look out.

More adept at using the binoculars now, he quickly locates his target and zooms in. He can see into the car and, yes, there is a man in there. At least this time the guy isn’t staring back at him through binoculars, though there is a pair laying on the dashboard. The driver is flailing, his face turned down towards his lap and belatedly Dean realizes that the man is fumbling with keys in the ignition.

He can hear the engine when the car starts and he retreats from the window when the headlights switch on and flood the side of his house with bright white light.

“Oh hell no,” he mutters, leaping from his knees to his feet. Barreling through the house, he lets the binoculars clatter to the floor in favor or snatching his cell from the end table as he shoots past it.

Glancing down at the screen while moving towards the front door, Dean thumbs to his contacts and selects the police department which he’d purposefully added with a title that would keep it at the very top of the list for easy access.

Without slowing down, Dean puts a call through as he shoves his way through the entry door and out onto his porch. Careening out into the cold, he hears an engine rev and his eyes flick to the street to follow the progress of the familiar car as it backs up and begins to pull away from the curb. “Oh no you don’t,” he growls, lurching down the porch steps in his bare feet. Stepping out into the deep snow, he curses as the shock of the cold hits him but he doesn’t stop. He grits his teeth and breaks into a run, one hand clutching his phone and the other keeping his pants up. “Not this time mother-fucker,” he growls, closing the distance between himself and the car. “This time I’ve gotcha.”

The driver of the car must’ve seen him race out onto the lawn because suddenly its engine is roaring and its tires are spinning on the slippery road as it tries and fails to speed away. Despite its powerful engine, the vehicle isn’t able to build up speed on the snow and ice covered street and Dean is closing in. He veers to the left a little, prepared to come around behind the vehicle and get it’s plate number. Just then, a tinny voice comes through his phone. “Valley Falls Police Department.” His call is connected.

Glancing down for a beat, Dean puts his thumb to the speakerphone button mid-stride and speaks, yells, to the dispatcher. “This is Dean Winchester on Willow Drive. That suspicious car is back again. I’m getting a plate number this time so send a goddam officer!”

Even as he’s speaking, he’s tapping the icon to bring up the camera function and as his long stride carries him over the last few yards, he’s already pointing the camera at street. He can’t keep the device steady while running over uneven ground, but he tries to keep locked on the boxy gold car as it begins to finally pick up speed.

Dropping his eyes to the camera screen, he seeks to confirm that he is in fact recording. On the screen he sees a metallic gold blur as the car rolls past him and he tears his eyes from the device so he can keep running. He tries to keep his filming arm steady as he approaches the street and as he nears the car, it seems to finally gain some traction. He only misses intercepting it by a few yards and, as it pulls away down the street, the license plate becomes visible. Then, he misses a step.

The curb. He’d forgotten about the eight inch drop of the curb. As he moves out into the street, Dean goes down hard. His chin connects with the ice-covered pavement and all he sees is white.

Nothing but white.

The phone slips from his hand and skitters away. He quickly scrambles to his feet again, and looks down the road at the red glow of tail lights. Though he tries, it’s impossible to make out the plate number that’s growing smaller with distance. “Fuck!” he curses, angry like he’s never been before. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

From the phone, a few feet away, a tinny voice is still speaking to him… asking him to repeat his name. Stomping over to retrieve the device, he answers angrily. “It’s Dean. Dean Fucking Winchester. I’m on Willow Drive.”

The street is quiet now as Dean stands watching the nearest intersection where that ugly pimpmobile of a car just made a left turn. All of the sudden he realizes just how cold he really is. His wet bare feet are burning as if they’re on fire. His pants are wet, practically falling down because he hasn’t zipped himself up, and the front of his body, including his face, is wet and ice-cold in what he now realizes is a bitter, whipping wind.

Indignant and frustrated beyond words, Dean grabs his phone and continues speaking to the police department as he marches back across his front yard. Taking the steps two at a time, he bounds back into his living room and slams the door.

Pausing at the window, he takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. Tugging the curtain shut, he shucks his wet pants and leaves them in the middle of the floor as he heads for the downstairs bathroom to retrieve a towel.

“No,” he says when the officer asks if he’s got a plate number, “I couldn’t get it.”

Patting himself dry, Dean tries to hold back his ferocious temper as he continues answering questions. “Yes, I can describe the vehicle.”

Ten minutes later, he’s clean and dry and so is his phone. He’s sitting on the side of his bed in a pair of comfortable cotton sleep pants and watching the short video he managed to record as he tried to get a plate number in the dark tonight. As he’d figured, there’s nothing captured in this footage that helps him identify the car or the driver… it’s just ten seconds of shaking, jerky video that offers a quick glimpse of the side panel of an old gold car and then a few seconds of darkness set to the soundtrack of one angry, belligerent man who curses like a sailor.

Resigned to a level of frustration that he’s seldom felt outside a classroom, Dean moves to sit on an uncomfortable chair where he usually just piles up clothes that he’s too lazy to put away. For hours he perches there by his bedroom window and looks down on the street below. He’s hoping the car will return, but he knows that it won’t.

A patrol car loops past about every twenty minutes or so. At least they’re taking his call seriously. He stays by the window like a sentinel until his neck is too weak and tired to hold his head up anymore. Then, still irritated, he skulks off to bed.

Crawling between the sheets, he spends his last few waking moments wondering how much the driver of the Lincoln saw tonight. He’d been bent over his living room chair for at least a few minutes, naked and playing with his asshole. Based on the location of the car when he’d first seen it, Dean doesn’t think that he was witnessed in that particular act because there wasn’t a clear line of sight. But, he can’t know for sure. At the very least, the driver, who he knows was probably looking through binoculars, saw him naked with a boner as he stood in the window for about half a minute to admire the view of himself.

A shiver creeps up on him and when he considers his body’s reaction critically, he has to admit that he kind of likes the idea of being watched in his intimate moments - by someone he’s at least mildly attracted to, that is. That’s the caveat. He’ll admit that he likes being watched, that is, if he’s being watched by someone he finds desirable. It’s erotic.

But, if he’s honest with himself, Dean knows that the man with binoculars is most likely not watching him in particular. The guy is probably watching every house on the block as he cases the neighborhood with the intention of robbing it.

In reality, the mysterious lurker is probably taking detailed notes on what time people arrive home, when they go to bed, who has an alarm system, and which homes are shared with a big-ass watchdog. All of this information would be helpful to a thief as he decides when and how to burgle them all.

Right after Christmas is the best time, right? When every living room has a new flat screen and gaming system? For some odd reason, the old Home Alone movies suddenly pop into his mind. Thinking of the ‘wet bandits’ gives him a fleeting feeling of amusement as he drifts off to sleep. He’s then led through a series of whimsical dreams that play out much like the movies did, except that somehow Dean is in them. At times he was a little boy and at times he was a man, and as the dream continually shifts around him, Dean finds himself alternately hiding fearfully and then enjoying gleeful fun. At no point does he see the big gold car in his dreamscape, but for the duration he was vaguely aware of its presence, and even more so, the unknowable presence that he could feel watching him from behind the wheel.

**Author's Note:**

> Your comment could make my day :)


End file.
